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The  Knave  of  Hearts. 

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Confessions  of  a  Frivolous  Girl 

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THE 


Knave  of  Hearts 


9i  JFairp  ^torp 


BY 


ROBERT     GRANT 

author  of 

'the  confessions  of  a  frivolous  girl,"  "an  average  man," 

"  the  little  tin  gods-on-whkels,"  etc. 


BOSTON  AND    NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 

1894 


Copyright,  i88j, 
By  Ticknor  and  Company. 


A /I  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &  Company. 


"  Vixi  puellis  nuper  idoneus 
Et  militavi  non  sme  gloria" 

'■'Nunc  arma  defimdumque  bello 
Barbiton  hie  paries  habebiV' 


1618449 


I. 


"  He  shall  be  a  lawyer  and  go  to  Congress," 
said  my  father. 

"  He  shall  be  a  banker  and  control  railroads," 
said  my  mother. 

These  were  very  natural  assertions,  for  I  was 
the  descendant  of  distinguished  families  on  both 
sides.  My  maternal  great-grandfather  was  killed 
at  Bunker  Hill,  my  maternal  grandfather  was 
a  judge  of  the  Supreme  Court  of  the  United 
States,  while  my  father's  folk  for  several  gen- 
erations had  been  merchant  princes. 

I  was  an  only  son,  and  my  three  sisters,  sitting 
side  by  side, on  the  sofa,  with  luxuriant  fluffy 
golden  hair  flowing  over  their  shoulders,  looked 
very  proud  at  the  parental  prophecies.     Yet, 


6  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

like  true  daughters  of  a  free  soil,  they  were  not 
content  to  have  their  opinions  formed  for  them. 
Cried  Alice  Maud,  the  eldest,  a  maiden  of  fifteen 
summers :  — 

"O  mamma,  I  do  hope  Arthur  will  be  a 
sailor !  I  adore  sailors !  '■'  She  knocked  the 
heels  of  her  little  bronzed  kid  boots  together 
in  her  ecstasy. 

"  No,  dear  Alice,"  said  Julia  Pierson,  who  was 
quiet  and  pensive,  yet  a  firm  child ;  "  he  would 
look  much  nicer  in  canonicals.  I  should  love 
to  see  him  a  clergyman." 

Medora  (my  mother  had  pleased  herself  in 
the  choice  of  a  name  for  the  youngest)  shook 
her  yellow  mane  like  a  colt  in  her  impatience  at 
the  choice  of  her  sisters. 

"  How  hateful,  Julia !  And  I  don't  care  much 
for  sailors,  either!  They  walk  all  crooked." 
The  child  slightly  protruded  her  nine-year-old 
tongue.  "  I  want  him  to  be  an  actor  and  go  on 
the  stage." 

I,  the  subject  of  this  dialogue,  sat  meanwhile 
with  one  leg  thrown  listlessly  over  the  arm  of  a 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  7 

chair  smoking  a  cigarette.  I  was  just  graduated 
from  college,  and  very  well  content  with  my 
own  importance.  Something  was  to  become  of 
me  in  the  future,  I  knew,  but  the  precise  char- 
acter of  my  destiny  I  was  disposed  to  leave  to 
the  selection  of  others.  It  was  sufficient  for  me 
now  to  be  aware  that  the  points  of  my  collar 
met  unexceptionably,  and  that  my  mustache 
was  waxing  in  importance  daily.  Nevertheless, 
I  fingered  the  ends  of  the  latter  between  the 
puffs,  and  assumed  a  slightly  meditative  air. 
After  all,  my  affairs  were  being  discussed,  and 
mere  politeness  demanded  some  display  of  in- 
terest on  my  part. 

A  short  pause  followed  the  infant  Medora's 
expression  of  opinion.  It  seemed  almost  as  if 
the  family  were  awaiting  a  remark  from  still 
another  source.  The  delay  was  not  long,  how- 
ever, for  a  frail  cough  from  an  obscure  corner 
of  the  room  was  followed  by  an  old  woman's 
quaver : — 

"  You  are  all  of  you  wrong,  my  dears ;  he  is 
to  be  the  Knave  of  Hearts." 


8  THE  KNAVE  OF  HEARTS. 

To  say  that  my  fanuly  regarded  my  great- 
great-aunt  as  a  witch  would  be  to  ascribe  to 
them  a  d^;ree  of  sopeistitioii  incompatible  with 
the  times  in  which  we  live.  I  dare  S3y  some  of 
my  ancestors  would  not  have  hesitated  long  to 
hurry  the  old  gentlewoman  to  the  stake,  but, 
thank  Heaven !  no  one  has  faith  in  witchcraft  to- 
day; and  when  my  mother  wished  to  account 
for  Aunt  Selina's  idiosyncrasies,  she  was  wont 
simpty  to  speak  of  her  as  "  peculiar."  Every- 
body was  quite  satisfied  with  that  explanation. 

**  What  nonsense !  "  said  my  mother. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  asked  my 
lather. 

•*  How  interesting !  **  cried  Alice  Maud. 

"  How  volatile !  "  observed  Julia  Pieison,  who 
had  a  command  of  language. 

**  Then  he  won't  go  on  the  stage,"  whimpered 
littie  Medora. 

As  for  me,  I  continued  to  tmrl  my  mus- 
tache thoughtfully,  with  my  eyes  fixed  on  my 
patent-leather  shoes,  which  were  quite  new  and 
objects  of  pride. 


THE  KNAVE  OF  HEARTS.  9 

"  Mark  my  words,  he  will  be  the  Knave  of 
Hearts,"  repeated  the  aged  dame;  whereupon 
she  hobbled  out  of  the  room,  letting  fall  in  pass- 
ing the  ball  of  worsted  attached  to  her  knitting, 
which  rolled  away  and  fastened  itself  around 
one  of  the  legs  of  the  piano. 

I  think  my  family  must  have  looked  upon 
her  words  in  the  light  of  an  anathema,  for  they 
gazed  at  each  other  almost  ruefully.  But  I,  who 
have  never  shared  the  awe  of  the  old  lady  felt 
by  the  rest  of  the  household,  proceeded  to  pick 
up  her  property  and  follow  the  trail  of  the  yarn, 
which  continued  to  unwind  itself  in  keeping 
with  Aunt  Selina's  steps.  It  was  a  genuine 
labyrinth  I  was  pursuing,  for  my  venerable  rela- 
tive lived  in  a  wing  of  the  house  which  was  quite 
uninhabited  save  for  her  occupancy.  She  was 
my  father's  great-aunt  on  his  mother's  side,  and 
had  lived  with  us  ever  since  I  could  remember. 
Long  experience  had  taught  the  family  to  give 
her  sayings  consideration,  for  there  was  apt  to 
be  much  more  pith  therein  than  appeared  at 
first  sight.     It  was  customary  with  us  all  to  ask 


lO  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

Aunt  Selina's  advice  before  taking  any  impor- 
tant step,  and  though,  as  in  the  present  case, 
her  utterings  would  sometimes  excite  apparent 
increduh'ty,  they  were  sure  to  sink  deep  into  the 
hearts  of  the  hearers. 

When  the  ball  of  worsted  had  regained  its 
former  proportions,  I  found  myself  at  the  door 
of  her  apartment,  which  was  still  open. 

"  Look,  aunt,"  said  I,  advancing ;  "  you 
dropped  this  in  the  sitting-room,  and  I  have 
brought  it  to  you." 

She  received  the  ball  from  me  with  a  gracious 
nod  of  the  head,  and  was  probably  prepared  for 
my  immediate  departure.  But  with  a  self-com- 
posure, which  was  a  trait  of  mine  that  never 
deserted  me,  I  slipped  into  an  easy-chair  and 
resumed  the  stroking  of  my  mustache  and  the 
survey  of  my  boots.  The  old  lady  had  estab- 
lished herself  already  in  her  favorite  straight- 
backed  seat,  and  the  click  of  her  knitting-needles 
was  the  only  sound  audible  in  the  room.  Once 
I  stealthily  raised  my  eyes  and  caught  sight  of  a 
smile  hovering  upon  the  withered  lips.     It  was 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  II 

plain  to  me  that  she  was  not  vexed  at  my  pres- 
ence. I  determined,  however,  to  await  develop- 
ments, for  I  was  a  diplomat  by  nature. 

Presently  she  arose,  and,  going  to  a  cup- 
board, took  therefrom  a  bottle  upon  which  dust 
still  lingered,  and  two  glasses. 

"That  is  Madeira,  Arthur,  bottled  half  a 
century  before  you  were  born." 

I  bowed  gravely,  and,  raising  to  my  lips  the 
glass  which  she  presented  me,  tasted  the  precious 
fluid  with  an  air  of  respect,  yet  nevertheless 
critically.  Often  as  I  had  visited  her  apartments, 
my  aunt  never  before  had  offered  me  wine. 

"  It  is  very  old,"  I  observed,  holding  the 
golden  liquor  to  the  sunlight.  "  What  is  its 
precise  age,  aunt?" 

"  I  cannot  say  to  a  certainty.  The  wine  was 
given  me  by  Captain  Michael  Westering  just 
before  he  sailed  upon  his  last  voyage,  in  the 
year  1813.  It  had  been  in  his  possession  more 
than  a  decade." 

I  listened  with  reverence,  yet  with  curiosity, 
for  from  the  sigh  which  escaped  her  I  came  to 


12  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

the  conclusion  that  this  Captain  Westering  must 
have  been  the  hero  of  a  romance  familiar  to 
me  since  childhood.  It  was  a  family  secret 
that  Aunt  Selina  in  youth  had  been  loved  by 
and  reciprocated  the  attachment  of  a  famous 
mariner,  a  mysterious  personage  whose  meth- 
ods upon  the  deep  were  not  wholly  free  from 
suspicion.  Indeed,  his  reform  was,  I  believe, 
made  a  condition  of  their  marriage;  but  the 
bridegroom  disappeared  upon  the  eve  of  the 
wedding,  having  been  lost  at  sea,  according  to 
popular  report,  while  returning  from  a  voyage 
to  the  coast  of  Guinea.  Despite  many  flatter- 
ing offers,  Aunt  Selina  had  remained  true  to 
his  memory  through  all  these  years.  The  cap- 
tain had  neglected  to  make  a  will  in  her  favor, 
but  this  circumstance  did  not  a  whit  impair 
her  constancy.  Those  who  love  well  love  but 
once,  was  the  moral  which  the  narrators  of  her 
stoiy  loved  to  dwell  upon. 

I  had  never  heard  the  name  of  her  lover 
mentioned.  My  mother,  whose  knowledge  of 
the  affair  was  my  own  source  of  information. 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  1 3 

always  spoke  of  him  as  "  the  Captain,"  and 
I  do  not  beheve  that  my  father,  whose  rela- 
tive she  was,  knew  more  than  this.  To  have 
questioned  Aunt  Selina  upon  the  subject  would 
have  exceeded  the  audacity  even  of  my  sister, 
Julia  Pierson,  whom  a  desire  for  truth  rendered 
callous  to  the  ordinary  canons  of  taste. 

My  aunt  sipped  a  glass  of  wine  and  wiped 
her  lips  with  a  handkerchief,  the  exquisite  lace 
embroidery  of  which  was  yellow  with  time. 
She  had  a  thin  face,  with  a  peaked  chin  and 
small  ferret  eyes.  Her  nose  was  a  marked 
aquiline.  She  wore  no  cap,  and  her  hair, 
which,  though  snow-white,  was  still  abundant, 
lay  smooth  as  wax  upon  either  side  of  the  part, 
and  culminated  at  each  temple  in  a  knob-like 
bunch  of  curls.  Her  dress  was  precise  in  its 
neatness,  but  of  extreme  simplicity.  A  straight 
gown  of  black  silk,  unrelieved  by  ornament 
or  conventionalized  by  crinoline,  had  been  her 
costume  as  far  back  as  my  memory  extended. 

"  You  have  become  a  man,  Arthur,"  she 
said  at  length,  as  if  by  way  of  preface. 


14  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

I  inclined  my  head  with  dignity,  and  pinched 
my  upper  lip  expectantly. 

"  I  am  an  old  woman  now.  Folk  call  me 
an  old  maid,  I  daresay." 

"  You  should  not  talk  so,  aunt."  The  maiden 
lady  had  passed  her  eighty-second  birthday, 
but  I  never  was  deficient  in  tact.  "  Indeed," 
said  I,  with  a  boldness  that  was  surprising  to 
myself,  "  does  not  the  world  know  that  a  single 
life  is  of  your  own  choosing?" 

She  looked  up  at  me  and  chuckled  exult- 
antly. "  Ay,  ay,"  she  squeaked,  "  I  was  not 
mistaken,  I  was  not  mistaken." 

"  Mistaken  in  what,  aunt?  " 

"  In  you,  my  dear.  You  are  to  be  the  Knave 
of  Hearts."  She  rubbed  together  her  bony 
hands,  and  for  some  minutes  mumbled  inaud- 
ibly  in  her  delight. 

"I,  too,  was  young  once,  but  I  was  a  fool," 
she  said.     "  You  will  be  wiser." 

"  You  talk  in  riddles,  aunt;  please  explain;" 
and  leaning  forward,  I  bent  my  deep  brown 
eyes  upon  her  caressingly,  for  I  was  said  to 
possess  winning  ways. 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  1$ 

"  I  gave  him  my  whole  heart,  forever  and 
forever.  He  carried  it  away  with  him,  and  I 
never  saw  him  again,"  cried  the  old  woman, 
with  a  voice  that  was  between  a  sigh  and  a 
hiss.     "It  was  a  mistake." 

*'  Did  he  not  give  you  his  in  return,  Aunt 
Selina?  "    I  queried. 

"  Fiddlesticks  !  "  was  the  reply. 

I  realized  that  my  question  had  disappointed 
my  relative's  estimate  of  my  intelligence.  Even 
in  asking  it  I  had  been  conscious  that  it  was 
weak  and  boyish. 

"  You  will  never  be  so  foolish,"  she  con- 
tinued, emphatically. 

Here  was  an  opportunity  to  retrieve  my  lost 
ground :   "  I  trust  not,  I  am  sure,  aunt," 

"  I  was  just  eighteen,"  she  went  on  to  say. 
"  I  was  young,  and  had  no  one  to  advise  me. 
Besides,  he  was  very  handsome." 

There  was  a  slight  touch  of  vanity  in  the  tone 
of  her  last  words,  which  neutralized  the  self-re- 
proach of  what  went  before,  and  fumbling  in  hei 
pocket  she  drew  forth  a  leather  case  containing 


1 6  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

a  miniature  which  she  held  out  for  my  inspec- 
tion. I  turned  it  to  the  Hght  and  gazed  upon 
the  features  of  a  dashing  youth  of  command- 
ing presence,  whose  hair  was  of  the  shade  of  a 
raven's  wing,  and  whose  eyes  seemed  still  in- 
stinct with  life,  so  radiant  were  they  with  the 
lustre  of  a  keen  vitality.  Involuntarily  I  uttered 
an  expression  of  admiration. 

"  Yes,"  she  continued,  "  he  was  indeed  beau- 
tiful. That  is  the  sole  excuse  which  I  have  to 
offer  for  my  folly.  But  how  paltry  does  it 
seem  when  I  reflect  upon  the  desert  of  time 
that  separates  me  from  my  eighteenth  year; 
a  period  during  which  I  might  have  known 
much  and  varied  happiness,  had  I  been  less 
prodigal  of  my  heart  in  early  youth.  A  por- 
tion of  it  would  have  satisfied  the  captain,  and 
I  should  not  be  to-day  a  spinster,  whose  hue- 
less  existence  supplies  food  to  chroniclers  of 
musty  romance.  Imbecile  that  I  was,  I  gave 
him  the  whole." 

"  It  was  an  error,  —  an  error  of  judgment  un- 
doubtedly,"  I   answered.      "  You   left  yourself 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  1/ 

quite  at  the  mefcy  of  circumstance,  as  the  event 
proved.  Naturally,  having  given  your  whole 
heart,  you  could  not  marry  again.  Am  I  right 
in  my  conjecture?"  While  awaiting  her  re- 
sponse I  ventured  to  help  myself  again  to  Cap- 
tain Westering's  Madeira. 

It  was  some  minutes  before  Aunt  Selina  re- 
sumed the  conversation,  and  then  her  words 
indicated  a  step  forward  in  the  line  of  thought. 

**  You  are  the  only  one  of  the  family,  Arthur, 
upon  whom  I  feel  that  I  can  rely  for  sympathy 
and  appreciation.  Your  father  sacrificed  him- 
self in  his  twentieth  year  to  a  sentiment  that  is 
more  ardent  and  commonplace  to-day  than  at 
its  inception.  Life  lay  before  him,  bright  with 
opportunity,  but  he,  like  myself,  fell  a  victim  on 
the  threshold  to  the  infatuation  of  a  single  ab- 
sorbing passion.  Firm  believer  as  I  am  in  the 
laws  of  heredity,  I  have  some  confidence  that 
you  may  be  exempt  from  this  ancestral  curse." 

I  inclined  my  head  in  token  of  gratitude  for 
her  good  opinion,  and  she  proceeded  with  the 
subject. 


1 8  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

"You  are  handsome,  Arthur:  more  so  even 
than  your  father  at  the  same  age.  There  was 
a  certain  robust  rigor  in  his  composition  that  is 
softened  in  yours." 

"  My  only  weak  point,  aunt,  is  my  nose.  It 
is  somewhat  large.  But  I  am  not  one  to  become 
dejected  over  a  trifle,  and  have  every  reason  to 
be  content  with  my  personal  appearance." 

"  And  yet  I  have  known  young  people  as  well 
endowed  as  you,  my  nephew,  marry  within  six 
months  after  their  majority.  There  was,  I  re- 
member, a  contemporary  of  mine,  —  a  tall,  mag- 
nificent creature,  with  an  alabaster  skin  and  the 
lips  of  a  Hebe,  —  who  threw  herself  away  at  sev- 
enteen during  an  ocean  passage.  It  was  sheer 
folly,  for  the  man  was  of  the  persevering  kind, 
and  would  have  waited  any  number  of  years,  — 
years  which  would  have  been  everything  to 
her." 

"  I  have  had  some  slight  experience  in  such 
matters  already,"  said  I,  with  a  conscious  blush 
which  annoyed  me  withal,  but  was  very  likely 
imperceptible  to  Aunt  Selina,  whose  eyes  were 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  1 9 

no  longer  what  they  used  to  be.  "  There  was 
a  girl"  — 

"  Enough,  Arthur,"  interrupted  the  old  lady. 
"  It  is  not  my  desire  to  pry  into  your  private 
affairs.  Have  I  not  stated  already  that  I  have 
confidence  in  you  ?  If  indeed  your  allusion 
relates  to  the  friendship  you  enjoyed  with  a 
certain  young  person  during  your  vacation  last 
summer,  let  me  add  that  I  was  no  blind  observer 
of  your  behavior;  I  may  say  she  had  every 
reason  to  imagine  that  you  were  desperately 
fond  of  her.  Even  I  was  almost  deceived  by 
your  show  of  admiration,  and  trembled  to  think 
of  the  probable  upshot  of  the  afifair ;  for  I  could 
not  help  remembering  that  you  were  your 
father's  son  and  my  grandnephew.  The  result 
has  proved  me  to  be  mistaken,  and  has  con- 
firmed my  previous  estimate  of  your  intelli- 
gence." 

"  And  yet,  aunt,"  I  asked,  with  a  contraction 
of  my  brow  (for  with  all  my  due  appreciation  of 
my  parts  I  was  a  modest  man,  and  doubtful 
of  the  extent  to  which  I  should  be  justified  in 


20  THE  KNAVE  OF  HEARTS. 

presuming  upon  my  capacity),  "  do  you  mean 
that  you  advise  me  to  regard  my  individuality 
in  this  respect  as  a  calling?  " 

"  Why  not,  my  dear  ?  Is  there  any  other,  pray, 
for  which  you  are  better  fitted  ?  There  is  many 
a  young  lawyer  and  doctor  who  would  gladly 
exchange  his  profession  for  yours  had  he  the 
qualifications  which  you  possess." 

**  But,"  I  faltered,  "  how  am  I  to  provide  my- 
self with  means  of  support,  for  you  are  aware 
that  my  father,  though  in  comfortable  circum- 
stances, is  not  so  wealthy  as  to  warrant  me  in 
continuing  to  be  a  burden  upon  him." 

Aunt  Selina  made  a  gesture  of  impatience. 
"Do  not  concern  yourself  as  to  means.  They 
will  be  found  readily  enough  as  the  occasion 
requires.  You  have  too  much  ability  and  good 
sense  ever  to  come  to  want.  Still,  if  the  worst 
arrives,  it  will  be  always  in  your  power  to  marry 
an  heiress,  though  I  deprecate  such  a  proceeding 
for  many  years  to  come.  There  is  one  thing, 
however,  that  I  advise :  Have  a  nominal  calling 
of  some   kind  besides,  —  a  lawyer's,  a    cotton- 


THE  KNAVE  OF  HEARTS.  21 

broker's,  or  any  other  that  is  reputable,  and  yet 
where  you  will  be  your  own  master.  In  this 
community  a  young  man  who  cannot  lay  his 
finger  on  his  occupation  and  say  I  am  this,  that, 
or  the  other  arouses  suspicion." 

She  paused,  quite  exhausted  by  this  long  ex- 
hortation, to  which  I  listened  with  rapt  attention 
and  a  growing  respect  for  her  knowledge  of 
human  nature. 

In  answer  to  my  inquiry  as  to  the  advisability 
of  entering  upon  my  vocation  at  once,  Aunt 
Selina  counselled  expedition. 

"  While  the  next  few  years  will  doubtless 
add  to  your  powers  of  fascination,  the  bloom 
of  early  manhood  has  a  potency  of  its  own  not 
to  be  undervalued.  Time  may  teach  you  the 
art  of  employing  your  talents  to  greater  ad- 
vantage, but  no  amount  of  sophistication  can 
simulate  the  freshness  of  youth." 

Therewith  she  laid  aside  the  knitting  with 
which  her  hands  were  busied,  and  seeking  an 
antique  mahogany  escritoire  which  rested  upon 
brass  supports  in  the  guise  of  a  griffin's  claws, 


22  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

produced  a  miniature  horse-hair  trunk.  Its  con- 
tents proved  to  be  a  packet  of  letters  tied  about 
with  a  faded  lavender  ribbon,  and  an  ivory  box 
of  elaborate  Eastern  workmanship.  Pressing  a 
spring  in  the  latter  she  disclosed  a  curious 
trinket,  resembling  in  form,  color,  and  size  a 
veritable  human  heart.  At  Aunt  Selina's  in- 
stance I  took  it  from  its  receptacle,  and  found 
that  though  the  surface  of  the  bauble  was 
smooth  as  ivory,  it  was  plastic  to  the  touch. 
While  I  was  wondering  greatly  regarding  its 
composition  I  heard  my  kinswoman  say  with 
a  sigh,— 

"This  heart  was  given  me  in  the  year  1813 
by  Captain  Michael  Westering,  as  a  pledge  of 
unalienable  and  unqualified  affection." 

The  tremor  of  her  voice  prompted  me  to  look 
up  from  my  examination  of  the  treasure,  and 
I  observed  that  the  eyes  of  my  ancestress  were 
moist  with  tears.  Upon  perceiving  that  I  was 
aware  of  her  mood,  she  dashed  the  drops  away 
with  a  movement  of  her  ancient  knuckles,  and 
emptying  upon  the  table  the  remaining  contents 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  23 

of  the  little  box,  drew  from  a  heap  of  rubbish 
that  might  once  have  been  a  nosegay  a  lancet 
in  the  form  of  an  arrow.  Its  point  was  the 
blade,  and  the  shaft,  which  was  of  raised  silver, 
terminated  in  a  minikin  of  a  cupid  after  the 
manner  of  an  apostle  spoon. 

"What  is  that,  my  aunt?"  I  asked,  with  a 
view  to  help  her  to  regain  her  composure  by  a 
delicate  ignoring  of  her  emotion. 

She  passed  the  lace  handkerchief  across  her 
lips  once  or  twice,  and  took  another  sip  of 
wine  before  replying. 

"  That  is  a  keepsake  given  to  me  by  the 
family  of  Captain  Westering  after  his  fate  had 
ceased  to  be  questioned.  It  has  rested  all  these 
years  in  the  dusty  embrace  of  the  first  and  last 
posies  he  ever  bestowed  upon  me.  It  is  but 
natural,  Arthur,"  she  went  on  to  say  after  a 
pause,  "  that  the  unearthing  of  these  memorials 
of  my  youth  should  unnerve  me  for  an  instant. 
One  cannot  always,  by  the  mere  exercise  of  the 
will,  master  a  despised  weakness.  You  are 
scientist  enough  to  understand  that  the  muscles 


24  THE  KNAVE  OF  HEARTS. 

often  refuse  to  obey  the  behest  of  the  intelli- 
gence.    But  enough  of  this,     I    have   brought 
forth   these  trinkets   for  a  purpose.     They  are 
for  you   to  make  use   of,    my  nephew.      This 
heart  is  composed  of  material  which,  though  of 
extreme   tenacity,    cannot  withstand    the   keen 
blade  of  its  companion.     Take  them  both  and 
wear  them  in  the  pocket  on  the  left  side  of  your 
waistcoat,  which  I  see  is  still  empty.     The  time 
may  come   in  the   course  of  your  experience 
when  they  will  prove  of  service.     If  it  should 
ever  chance  —  as  I  believe  it  will  —  that  you  are 
tempted  to  place  your  whole  heart  at  the  dis- 
posal of  another,  I  counsel  you  to  recall  at  that 
instant  my  example  and  my  precept.     At  such 
a  time  forbear  to  give  your  whole  heart;    but 
if  it  is  your  desire  to  leave  a  symbol  with  her 
whose  charms  seem  for  the  moment  superlative, 
slice  off  a  portion  of  this  token  with  the  lancet 
and  replace  the  rest  in  your  pocket.     The  satis- 
faction  of  the    morrow  will   indemnify   you   a 
hundred-fold  for  the  transient  pain  of  self-con- 
trol.    Heaven  bless  you,  my  nephew !  " 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  25 

So  saying  she  placed  the  box  in  my  hands, 
and  I,  with  that  gallantry  which  has  ever  been 
a  part  of  my  nature,  stooped  to  touch  my  lips 
to  the  faded  fingers.  There  was  a  fascination, 
doubtless,  about  my  manner  of  so  doing  that 
appealed  to  the  old  lady,  for  she  chuckled  again 
with  manifest  satisfaction. 

"  I  have  no  fear  for  you,  my  nephew." 

"  Nor  have  I  for  myself,  in  sooth,  aunt,  thanks 
to  your  counsel  and  vade-mecum." 

"  Rogue  !  "  she  murmured,  "  were  it  not  that 
the  captain  has  my  heart,  verily  I  might  be 
your  first  victim." 

"  Not  the  first.  Aunt  Selina,"  I  said,  perhaps 
less  modest  for  the  nonce  than  my  wont ;  "  you 
forget  my  summer's  episode.  But  at  least," 
I  added,  "  you  will  not  object  to  a  piece  of  my 
heart,  even  if  you  prize  it  not;  "  and,  suiting  the 
action  to  the  words,  I  had  sliced  off  a  small 
section  of  the  composition  article  before  she 
could  interpose  an  objection. 

**  Stay,  foolish  boy !  "  she  cried,  though  she 
was  not  displeased.     **  Waste  not  your  treasure 


26  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

on  an  old  spinster  like  me.  You  will  need  it 
all,  I  daresay."  She  took  the  heart  from  my 
hand,  and  proceeded  to  restore  it  to  its  original 
condition  by  dint  of  a  little  glue.  "  There !  " 
she  exclaimed,  in  a  delighted  falsetto,  "  it  looks 
as  good  as  whole.  No  one  ever  would  know 
that  it  had  been  scratched,  unless  she  were  to 
examine  it  very  carefully.  Once  more,  good- 
by,  my  dear ;  for  I  am  weary  after  so  unwonted 
an  interview." 

We  were  sitting  at  tea  one  evening  about  a 
week  later  when  I  surprised  the  family  by  the 
announcement  that  I  was  contemplating  a  short 
journey. 

"  For  what  reason?  "  asked  my  father,  pausing 
in  the  demolition  of  a  piece  of  buttered  toast. 

"  I  am  going  away  on  business,"  I  responded 
gravely. 

"  But  it  was  only  yesterday  that  you  put  up 
your  sign  as  a  lawyer." 

I  made  no  reply  to  this  remark,  for  I  felt  sure 
my  father  would  not  sympathize  with  my  real 
reason  for  departure,  and  I  was  no  skilful  hand  at 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  2/ 

dissimulation.  To  tell  the  truth,  Aunt  Selina's 
suggestions  had  so  worked  upon  my  fancy  that 
I  was  eager  to  test  my  ability  elsewhere  than 
at  home.  It  was  she  who  now  came  to  my 
rescue. 

"  The  boy  needs  some  diversion  after  his  four 
years  of  study.  He  ought  not  to  settle  down 
to  work  until  he  has  seen  a  little  of  the  world," 
piped  the  old  lady  in  a  friendly  key.  "  Here, 
Arthur,"  she  continued,  reaching  across  to  me 
a  handful  of  gold  coins  of  no  small  denomina- 
tion, **  these  will  enable  you  to  prolong  your 
journey  and  enjoy  yourself  for  a  few  weeks  after 
the  completion  of  the  business  by  which  you 
are  called  away." 

The  sight  of  the  money  must  have  had  a 
soothing  effect  upon  my  parent,  since  he  did 
not  remonstrate  further  against  my  going ;  nay, 
he  even  began  presently  to  enlarge  upon  the 
advantages  to  be  derived  from  travel,  and  coun- 
selled me  to  keep  my  eyes  open  while  absent 
from  my  native  city.  He  declared  that  the 
knowledge    acquired    and    acquaintances   made 


28  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

upon  such  an  occasion  might  be  of  great  use  to 
me  in  my  subsequent  legal  career. 

"And  when  do  you  propose  to  start?"  he 
inquired  finally. 

"  To-morrow  morning." 

"  Mercy !  "  cried  my  mother,  and  she  hurried 
out  of  the  room  to  give  orders  that  such  of 
my  wardrobe  as  was  in  the  wash  should  be  put 
in  proper  condition. 

My  golden-haired  sisters  Alice  and  Medora 
clambered  to  my  lap  and  nestled  their  heads  on 
my  shoulder. 

"  It  must  be  too  lovely  for  anything  to  travel. 
I  wish  I  were  going  with  you,"  said  the  eldest. 

"  Ah !  "  whispered  little  Medora,  with  a  sigh 
of  childish  envy,  "  he  will  see  real  lions  and 
live  princesses.  Do  bring  us  home  something 
awfully  nice,  Arthur,  dear." 

But  Julia  Pierson  sat  apart  and  looked  un- 
happy. At  last  she  said,  in  a  tone  of  disap- 
pointment which  was  not  without  reproof,  "  I 
thought  he  was  going  to  stay  at  home  and 
marry  Leila  Johnson," 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  29 

Now,  Leila  Johnson  was  the  young  lady  to 
whom  I  had  been  attentive  the  preceding 
summer. 

"  My  dears,"  cried  Aunt  Selina,  in  a  tone 
of  authority,  from  her  obscure  corner,  "  your 
brother  is  to  be  the  Knave  of  Hearts." 


II. 


A  PASSING  glance  at  the  occupants  of  the 
parlor-car  in  which  I  was  to  travel  gave  me 
a  sense  of  disappointment  I  scanned  each  in- 
dividual in  turn,  but  not  once  did  my  eye  kindle 
with  the  lustre  of  awakened  sympathy.  My 
fellow-passengers  were  of  an  uninteresting  class. 
My  right-hand  neighbor  was  an  old  lady  who 
fidgeted  as  to  the  bestowal  of  her  belongings, 
which  included  sundry  carpet-bags,  a  geranium 
plant  wrapped  in  newspapers,  and  a  canary. 
Dire,  to  say  the  least,  were  my  reflections  as 
I  surveyed  the  situation. 

The  chair  directly  opposite  to  me  across  the 
aisle  was  still  vacant,  and  I  had  leisure  to  medi- 
tate that  my  well-being  for  the  next  few  hours 
would  depend  largely  upon  the  character  of  its 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  3 1 

occupant.  Let  the  new-come?  be  as  uncon- 
genial as  the  persons  by  whom  I  was  sur- 
rounded, and  a  tedious  day  was  in  store  for 
me ;  but  if,  as  it  was  only  reasonable  to  expect, 
the  mediocre  average  of  those  present  should 
chance  to  be  relieved  by  — 

My  deliberations  were  cut  short  by  the  sound 
of  voices  at  the  entrance  of  the  car.  The  por- 
ter, bearing  wraps  and  a  neat  Russia-leather 
bag,  preceded  a  thin  middle-aged  lady  and  two 
girls.  One  of  these,  though  comely,  had  the 
spare  physique  of  her  elder  companion ;  but  the 
other  was  a  laughing,  rosy-faced  young  woman 
of  a  decidedly  stunning  type.  For  an  instant 
I  experienced  a  painful  doubt  as  to  which  of  the 
trio  was  to  be  my  fellow-traveller,  but  their  con- 
versation speedily  put  an  end  to  my  discomfort. 

"  My  dear,"  said  the  elder  lady,  addressing 
her  of  the  glowing  cheeks,  "  we  shall  miss  you 
dreadfully." 

"  I  feel  quite  broken-hearted  at  the  thought 
of  leaving  you.  I  have  had  a  perfectly  heavenly 
time,"  was  the  reply. 


32  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  shall  do  without  you, 
Blanche,"  said  the  slim  young  lady. 

^ "  You  must  write  to  me,  Emily,  very  often." 

The  porter  had  placed  the  bag,  which  I 
noticed  was  marked  with  the  letters  B.  L., 
beside  the  vacant  chair  across  the  aisle;  and 
as  the  ladies  were  grouped  in  very  close  quar- 
ters I  delicately  left  my  seat,  with  the  hope  that 
one  of  them  would  occupy  it  until  the  departure 
of  the  train.  At  this  moment  I  observed  Emily, 
under  whose  demure  air  a  spice  of  mischief 
lurked,  whisper  something  to  her  friend,  who 
blushed  and  tittered  slightly. 

"  What  nonsense,  Emily !  He  won't  do  any- 
thing of  the  kind." 

"  You  just  wait  and  see,  dear." 

The  speaker  pressed  her  face  against  the 
window-pane,  as  if  she  expected  to  catch  a 
ghmpse  of  some  one  outside.  Blanche  stood 
at  her  elbow,  and  tried,  by  giggling  protesta- 
tions, to  interrupt  this  action,  though  I  fancied 
she  was  far  from  displeased  thereby. 

I  wandered  out  to  the  platform  of  the  car 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  33 

and  lighted  a  cigarette.  After  a  few  pensive 
puffs  I  drew  from  my  pocket  a  small  note- 
book, the  virgin  page  of  which  I  inscribed 
as  follows :  — 

No.  I.     Blanche  L . 


Residence,  New  York  (probably). 
Blonde ;    superb    physique ;     fine    animal    spirits ; 
giggles. 

MEMORANDA. 

Has  been  visiting  in  Boston  and  has  received 
attentions.  Expects  admirer  at  depot.  Will  be  dis- 
appointed if  he  does  not  bring  flowers. 

Verb.  Sap. 

Alighting  from  the  car,  I  began  to  walk  up 
and  down  with  my  hands  behind  my  back. 
A  few  minutes  must  still  elapse  before  the 
departure  of  the  train.  Just  then  I  saw  a  win- 
dow open  and  Emily's  delicate  face  peep  out 
expectantly.  I  could  almost  feel  the  sympa- 
thetic squeeze  of  the  hand  she  doubtless  gave 
Blanche,  who  leaned  upon  her  shoulder.  They 
plainly  were  beginning  to  fear  that  the  tardy 
admirer  was  not  coming.  But  I  was  by  no 
3 


34  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

means  of  their  opinion.  I  felt  certain  he  would 
arrive.  In  all  probability  the  florist  had  disap- 
pointed him,  and  he  was  ransacking  the  town 
for  roses. 

The  gate  through  which  passengers  obtained 
admission  to  the  train  was  in  the  rear  of  the  last 
car,  and  practically  out  of  range  from  the  Pull- 
man. I  sauntered  thither.  A  queue  of  people 
filed  past  me  with  movements  of  haste.  It 
lacked  but  two  minutes  of  the  hour.  I  stepped 
beyond  the  wicket  into  the  area  of  the  depot. 
All  was  confusion.  Passengers  were  scurrying 
hither  and  thither,  for  there  were  several  other 
trains  in  process  of  arrival  and  departure.  I 
looked  searchingly  among  the  crowd,  but  there 
was  no  sign  of  the  missing  youth. 

A  bell  in  the  office  struck  warningly.  I  stood 
with  my  watch  in  hand.  Blanche  was  right. 
He  was  not  coming.  And  yet  such  deliberate 
desertion  struck  me  as  so  inartistic  as  to  render 
me  incredulous  even  at  this  late  moment. 

As  I  replaced  my  watch  in  my  fob  I  per- 
ceived a  figure  describing  a  rapid  course  through 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  35 

the  crowd  in  the  station.  By  the  fashionable 
cut  of  his  clothes  and  the  green  pasteboard  box 
he  carried,  I  recognized  the  tardy  lover.  I 
started  toward  him  with  some  impetuosity  and 
we  came  into  collision. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir !  "  I  exclaimed,  with 
the  courtesy  at  my  command  on  all  occasions. 

The  young  man,  who  was  almost  breathless 
with  hurry,  looked  as  if  he  could  have  strangled 
me  on  the  spot,  but  with  the  self-control  of  good 
breeding  swallowed  his  wrath,  and  somewhat 
fiercely  demanded  which  was  the  New  York 
train. 

"  It  is  there,"  I  cried,  pointing  to  one  at  the 
opposite  corner  of  the  platform. 

He  sped  like  a  deer  in  the  direction  indicated, 
and  I  just  had  time  to  pass  through  the  wicket 
before  it  closed  sharply.  I  ran  forward  and 
caught  the  railing  of  my  car,  ,which  was  already 
in  motion.  The  buxom  Blanche  stood  upon 
the  platform  waving  her  handkerchief  to  her  two 
friends,  who  followed  the  advancing  train  with 
similar   snowy   signals  of  farewell.     There  was 


36  THE  KNAVE  OF  HEARTS. 

a  rueful  expression  upon  the  face  of  Miss 
Emily,  as  if  she  harbored  sympathy  for  the 
other's  disappointment.  The  victim  looked 
back  smilingly,  however. 

"  Be  sure  and  write  soon." 

"  Yes,  dear ;  and  I  'm  certain  there  's  some 
mistake,"  cried  Emily,  throwing  a  kiss  as  a 
last  greeting. 

I  took  my  seat,  and  for  nearly  an  hour  inter- 
ested myself  by  looking  out  at  the  scenery. 
The  fortunate  course  of  events  had  swathed 
my  soul  in  a  sort  of  glamour,  so  that  the  houses 
and  fields  and  hills  and  valleys  flying  past  in 
swift  succession  served  as  a  background  for 
the  play  of  my  imagination.  I  found  an  ex- 
quisite pleasure  in  giving  the  rein  to  fancy,  and 
indulging  in  that  adulation  of  feminality  fre- 
quent with  me  even  when  propinquity  furnished 
no  cause ;  for  I  had  ever  cherished  an  ideal 
in  regard  to  the  gentler  sex.  I  had  a  limit- 
less faith  in  woman,  and.  yearned  to  encounter 
the  spirit  in  whose  companionship  my  every 
aspiration  would  find  content. 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  2>7 

Here  she  was  perhaps  close  at  hand.  I  stole 
a  glance  at  my  neighbor  across  the  aisle,  who 
was  sitting  twirling  the  fringe  of  her  sack  with 
a  thoughtful  air.  The  memory  of  her  sibilant 
giggle  haunted  my  ear  as  the  rhythm  of  a  cool 
mountain  brook  recalled  in  the  passages  of  a 
fever.  She  was  a  splendid  piece  of  flesh  and 
blood,  whom  a  pensive  brow  no  more  became 
than  a  dull  sky  the  laughing  stream.  A  wealth 
of  curling  tow-colored  hair  flowed  from  under 
the  arch  of  her  bonnet,  and  dimples  nestled  in 
the  curves  of  her  fresh-hued  cheeks.  Instinct 
told  me  that  the  life  which  even  now  bubbled 
upon  the  margin  of  those  red  lips  would  soon 
reassert  itself  and  dissipate  her  disappointment. 
Take  vitality  and  pique  together,  and  you  have 
the  material  for  a  runaway. 

I  was  in  the  course  of  transferring  this  epi- 
gram to  my  note-book  when  the  news-agent 
passed  through  the  car  with  a  collection  of  the 
literature  of  the  day.  I  stealthily  took  note  that 
the  two  novels  he  placed  upon  the  lap  of  my 
fair  companion  bore  severally  the  titles  of  "  True 


38  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

to  the  Last "  and  "  A  Lass  of  Spirit."  She  ex- 
amined the  first  of  these  with  a  pensive  inter- 
est, but,  though  she  sighed  once  or  twice  in 
the  course  of  turning  the  pages,  she  ended  by 
selecting  the  other. 

There  is  an  old  adage  in  regard  to  the  danger 
of  letting  a  hot  iron  cool,  which  came  to  my 
mind  at  this  juncture.  I  felt  the  necessity  of 
bestirring  myself  instantly.  The  delicacy  of  my 
nature  had  prompted  me  to  leave  Blanche  to 
her  own  reflections  until  now,  but  I  must  con- 
fess I  began  to  fear  that  in  my  consideration  for 
her  feelings  I  might  have  prejudiced  my  own 
interests.  Her  recovery  from  her  discomfiture 
had  been  more  rapid  than  my  estimate  of  fem- 
inine character  gave  me  reason  to  expect.  The 
wound  not  only  had  had  time  to  smart,  but  to 
begin  to  heal. 

An  opportunity  was  not  long  lacking.  The 
volume  purchased  proved  to  be  one  the  pages 
of  which  were  uncut,  and  as  she  was  wavering 
between  the  alternative  of  employing  her  index 
finger  and  laying  the  book  aside,  I  hastened  to 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  39 

ofifer  her  an  ivory  paper-cutter  which  belonged 
to  my  travelling-bag.  It  was  a  plain  but  taste- 
ful affair,  with  my  monogram  blazoned  upon 
the  handle. 

She  expressed  her  thanks  by  a  smiling,  but 
ladylike,  inclination  of  the  head ;  and  I  noticed, 
as  she  made  use  of  the  instrument,  a  faint  blush 
suffuse  her  cheek,  and  creep  upward  to  the 
roots  of  her  hair. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  I  aided  her  to 
raise  a  window  which  resisted  her  (as  I  de- 
cided) half-hearted  pressure,  and  when  the 
train  stopped  ten  minutes  for  refreshments, 
asked  her  to  permit  me  to  get  her  something 
to  eat.  Her  refusal  was  expected,  for  I  felt 
morally  certain  that  her  reticule  contained  a 
supply  of  sandwiches ;  but  the  opportunity  was 
not  one  to  be  neglected. 

Nor  was  I  mistaken,  for  when  we  emerged 
from  the  dimness  of  the  way-station  she  pro- 
duced a  packet  of  chicken  and  bread  wrapped 
in  a  snowy  doily.  I  was  not  conscious  of 
hinting,  by  any  expression   of  countenance,  a 


40  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

desire  to  share  her  repast,  but  perhaps  it  was 
my  having  no  luncheon  of  my  own  that  led  her 
to  ask  timidly,  if  I  would  not  take  a  sandwich. 
After  proper  hesitation  I  accepted  her  offer, 
and  the  opportune  removal  to  the  smoking-car 
of  a  gentleman  who  occupied  the  chair  next  to 
her's  gave  me  a  chance  to  establish  myself  at 
her  side  and  venture  a  few  remarks. 

Our  conversation  was  necessarily  very  formal 
for  the  first  few  minutes,  but  the  discovery  of 
mutual  friends  in  both  New  York  and  Boston 
broke  the  ice  and  established  a  bond  of  sym- 
pathy between  us.  The  enthusiasm  of  her 
manner  completely  charmed  me,  and  she  made 
use  of  very  extravagant  adjectives  to  express 
satisfaction  regarding   trivial  matters. 

I  was  altogether  happy.  She  appeared  to 
me  the  most  fascinating  person  I  had  ever  met. 
Her  fresh  beauty  filled  me  with  admiration, 
for  under  the  influence  of  excitement  her  eyes 
seemed  lakes  of  liquid  blue.  I  tried  my  best 
to  be  agreeable,  and  having  come  to  the  con- 
clusion that  she  preferred  to  laugh,  drew  largely 


THE  KNAVE  OF  HEARTS.  41 

0 
on  my  stock  of  stories  and  witticisms.  When- 
ever I  essayed  any  topic  of  a  more  serious 
nature  a  sort  of  embarrassment  clothed  her 
strict  attention,  as  if  implying  that  my  quasi- 
pedantry  was  alarming.  In  response  to  queries 
regarding  her  opinions  on  the  Irish  question 
and  a  recent  publication,  she  responded,  "  Oh, 
yes,"  and  became  unnaturally  grave.  Clearly 
she  would  consider  me  very  uninteresting  were 
I  to  continue  in  this  fashion. 

So,  when  I  had  come  to  the  end  of  the  tales 
and  conundrums  at  my  command,  I  showed 
her  one  or  two  tricks  with  coins  that  could  be 
performed  without  attracting  too  much  atten- 
tion in  the  car.  She  was  sure  she  could  imi- 
tate them,  and  her  fruitless  efiforts  at  success 
kept  us  in  continuous  mirth.  I  propounded  to 
her  that  venerable  query  the  answer  to  which 
is  "  the  little  boy  lied,"  and  was  amply  reward- 
ed for  my  pains,  since  it  appealed  extraordi- 
narily to  her  risibility,  though  she  declared 
with  a  shake  of  her  shoulders,  by  way  of  feigned 
anger,  that   I  was  "  awfully  unkind "    to   make 


42  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

sport  of  her.  The  innocent  device  of  knotting 
my  handkerchief  until  it  bore  some  resem- 
blance to  a  rabbit,  and  causing  it  to  jump  spas- 
modically in  imitation  of  that  creature,  fairly 
convulsed  my  lovely  companion,  and  strength- 
ened our  friendship.  The  strictly  impersonal, 
however,  does  not  long  satisfy  any  woman.  So 
my  natural  instinct  warned  me,  and  I  turned  by 
degrees  the  course  of  conversation  into  a  more 
interesting  channel.  A  few  direct  and  simple 
questions  were  necessary  for  the  acquirement 
of  one  or  two  facts  in  regard  to  herself,  but  I 
avoided  abandoning  more  than  momentarily  the 
jester's  part.  Anything  in  the  nature  of  ab- 
stract discussion,  which  I  knew  to  be  an  artistic 
and  convenient  veil  for  sentiment,  would,  in  the 
case  of  Blanche,  be  out  of  place.  Badinage 
was  the  only  available  method  of  paying  tribute 
to  her  fascinations  or  interesting  her  in  one's 
own. 

I  found  that  compliments,  when  couched  in 
a  not  too  serious  tone  of  voice,  pleased  her 
greatly.      The  more  delicate  ones  were  not  so 


THE   KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  43 

effective  as  those  easily  understood.  She  pre- 
tended to  think  these  laudatory  speeches  very 
ridiculous,  and  accused  me  of  being  foolish. 
Leaning  slightly  over  the  back  of  her  chair,  I 
would  whisper  some  still  more  extravagant  bit 
of  flattery  as  a  reply,  to  be  greeted  very  likely 
with  a  declaration  that  she  would  have  nothing 
more  to  do  with  me.  By  way  of  carrying 
out  her  threat  she  would  look  fixedly  in  the 
opposite  direction. 

"  Miss  Lombard,"  said  I  (I  had  discovered 
her  name  to  be  Blanche  Lombard),  "  do  you 
dot  your  eyes?  " 

My  query  concealed  a  society  inanity  I  had 
heard  exploded  not  long  before. 

Her  head  was  turned  the  other  way,  and  she 
seemed  deaf  to  my  utterance. 

"  At  least  you  might  answer  a  civil  question," 
I  continued. 

There  was  no  response.  I  thought  I  could 
detect  a  mufifled  giggle. 

"You  make  a  great  mistake  if  you  do,  for 
they  are  capital  eyes." 


44  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

"  How  absurd  !     What  nonsense  you  do  talk !" 

She  looked  still  more  fixedly  away  from  me, 
and  twisted  her  shoulders  so  as  to  exclude  all 
view  of  her  face. 

"But  it  is  true,  Miss  Lombard.  I  am  only 
speaking  the  truth.  If  you  do  not  believe  me, 
judge  for  yourself.  Here  is  the  opportunity." 
So  saying,  I  drew  from  my  pocket  one  of  those 
round,  flat  pin-cushions  carried  by  men,  the 
back  of  which  contained  a  mirror. 

She  turned  her  head  a  little  in  her  curiosity 
to  see  what  this  was,  but  immediately  looked 
the  other  way  again.  While  in  this  position  she 
put  out  her  hand  suddenly  and  took  the  pin- 
cushion from  me. 

"  Philopena !  "  I  cried. 

We  had  formed  an  agreement  not  five  min- 
utes before  that  whoever  of  us  should  first 
receive  anything  from  the  hand  of  the  other 
should  pay  a  forfeit.  In  the  event  of  my 
losing,  her  prize  was  to  be  five  pounds  of 
bonbons.  If  I  won,  she  was  to  make  me  a 
tobacco-pouch. 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  45 

The  moment  I  uttered  the  fatal  word  Blanche 
made  an  exclamation  that  would  doubtless  have 
been  a  little  shriek  had  the  surroundings  per- 
mitted. 

"  Oh !  "  she  cried,  with  an  indignant  writhe  of 
her  whole  figure,  ^'yoic  horrid  thing !  I  never 
will  speak  to  you  again y 

The  excitement  of  her  manner,  which  found 
a  partial  vent  in  the  intensity  of  these  expres- 
sions, caused  me  a  thrill  of  sweet  satisfaction. 
She  seemed  to  me  positively  an  angel,  and  I 
was  conscious  that  the  epithet,  "  you  horrid 
thing,"  embodied  the  highest  note  in  her  gamut. 
The  quintessence  of  enraptured  vitality  was  con- 
densed therein,  and  I  was  the  fortunate  being 
who  had  evoked  it. 

From  this  culmination  of  the  climax  the  con- 
versation gradually  declined  in  interest,  and  I 
shortly  had  the  tact  to  withdraw  and  leave  my 
companion  to  her  own  meditations.  I  sought 
the  smoking-car,  and,  lighting  another  cigar- 
ette, gave  myself  up  to  a  reverie  which  would 
have  been  wholly  deHcious  but  for  the  lurking 


46  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

doubt  as  to  my  chances  for  success.  I  did  not 
question  that  I  had  made  an  impression  on  my 
fellow-traveller;  but  would  she  regard  me  as 
other  than  a  mere  incident  of  the  journey,  a 
transient  influence,  which  would  cease  to  oper- 
ate upon  the  morrow?  Was  she  still  free,  or 
were  there  a  score  of  lovers  at  her  feet?  What 
was  the  true  footing  upon  which  the  swain 
stood  whose  flowers  I  had  so  lately  anticipated  ? 
He  might,  for  aught  I  could  tell,  be  on  the  eve 
of  conquest,  and  I  the  plaything  of  an  hour.  I 
loved  —  I  realized  the  condition  well  —  deeply 
and  passionately,  and  all  the  tortures  of  a  doubt- 
ing spirit  were  mine.  In  the  fulness  of  my  in- 
fatuation I  drew  out  my  note-book  once  more 
and  wrote  as  follows  :  — 

"  You  horrid  thing!  I  never  will  speak  to  you 
again." 

This  shibboleth,  still  pregnant  with  the  timbre 
of  her  voice,  floated  through  the  chambers  of 
my  brain. 

As  I  completed  the  last  word,  I  perceived 
that  we  had  almost  reached  our  destination.     I 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  47 

returned  to  Miss  Lombard's  side  in  time  to  take 
charge  of  her  wraps,  and  before  consigning  her 
to  the  care  of  her  father,  a  florid,  full-faced  man 
with  mutton-chop  whiskers,  who  was  awaiting 
her  arrival  at  the  depot,  I  had  obtained  her  per- 
mission to  call.  In  truth,  she  declared  she 
would  never  forgive  me  if  I  did  not. 

Was  there  not  a  delightful  fatality  in  the  cir- 
cumstance that  the  mother  of  Blanche  should 
prove  to  be  the  Lucia  Merton  of  whom  I  had 
heard  my  father  speak  as  one  of  his  youthful 
flames?  She  was,  in  fact,  the  only  woman  be- 
side his  wife  who  had  ever  stirred  his  fancy. 
He  had  married,  as  Aunt  Selina  told  me,  at  the 
age  of  twenty ;  but  I  have  reason  to  believe  that 
if  Lucia  Merton  had  desired  it,  his  nineteenth 
birthday  would  have  found  his  troth  plighted 
elsewhere.  However  that  may  be,  the  son  of 
Arthur  Lattimer  —  the  name  is  my  father's  and 
my  own  —  was  received  with  open  arms  by  the 
Lombard  family,  which,  beside  the  parents,  em- 
braced five  daughters,  each  in  her  turn  as 
blooming  and  buoyant   as  Blanche.     It  was  a 


48  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

rare  treat  to  sit  at  their  domestic  board,  at 
either  end  of  which  shone  the  round,  good- 
humored  faces  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lombard 
wreathed  in  smiles,  with  Blanche  on  my  right 
and  Fannie  on  my  left,  and  the  lovely  trio, 
Lulu,  Harriett,  and  little  Maud,  across  the  table. 
How  they  laughed  and  poked  fun  at  each  other ! 
The  humor,  like  the  viands  provided,  was  of  a 
substantial,  hearty  sort.  They  made  me  feel 
completely  at  home  in  five  minutes,  despite  the 
consciousness  lurking  in  my  breast,  and  which  I 
feared  my  face  would  betray,  that  I  loved  the 
eldest  daughter. 

Mr.  Lombard  was  a  wholesale  dry-goods  mer- 
chant. His  firm  —  Lombard,  Little,  &  White  — 
were  the  selling  agents  for  the  Pimlico  Mills. 
He  worked  very  hard,  but  spent  the  greater 
portion  of  his  very  large  income,  owing  to  the 
size  of  his  family.  Their  expensive,  lavish  style 
of  living  did  not  permit  him  to  save  anything. 
I  chanced  to  overhear  these  statements  at  the 
club,  after  Mrs.  Salisbury's  ball,  where  I  had 
been  dancing  till  past  midnight  with  Blanche. 


THE  KNAVE  OF  HEARTS.  49 

Two  venerable  flaneurs  were  interchanging  over 
a  bottle  impressions  regarding  their  acquaint- 
ances. 

**  Five  daughters !  Whew !  "  continued  the 
speaker  who  was  supplying  the  information. 
"  They  are  a  good-looking  lot,  though,  and 
ought  to  go  off  pretty  fast,  if  he  has  luck.  I 
understand  there  is  a  Boston  millionnaire  tag- 
ging after  the  eldest  girl." 

My  heart  gave  a  painful  flutter.  My  fears 
were,  after  all,  correct.  The  youth  whose  course 
I  had  blocked  in  the  railway  station  was  a  to-be- 
dreaded  rival.  A  millionnaire,  and  in  love  with 
Blanche !  Mr.  Lombard,  who  was  not  able  to 
lay  up  anything  for  his  daughter's  dowry,  would 
welcome  such  a  son-in-law  and  laugh  at  my 
pretensions.  My  father  was  well  off,  but  a  mil- 
lion in  my  own  right  was  a  sum  far  above  what 
I  could  hope  to  inherit.  Miserable  thirst  for 
gold,  and  how  much  more  despicable  when  ap- 
parent in  a  woman !  Love,  pure,  spontaneous 
love,  was  to  be  overlooked  and  trampled  under 
foot  for  the  sake  of  paltry  riches.  O  Blanche ! 
4 


50  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

Blanche !  I  had  given  you  credit  for  a  depth  of 
nature  inconsistent  with  the  discarding  of  the 
affection  of  an  honest  heart  to  obtain  a  couch  of 
splendor.     Farewell  forever. 

But  no.  I  was  premature.  I  reasoned  with- 
out proofs.  There  was  nothing  to  show  that 
she  I  worshipped  was  about  to  become  affianced 
to  another.  The  sweet  experience  of  the  even- 
ing just  flown  came  back  to  me  to  soothe  my 
spirit.  I  could  see  her  as  she  stood  in  the 
lustre  of  the  ball-room,  splendid  in  cream  color 
with  pink  bows,  talking  to  four  admirers  in 
the  same  breath.  Her  eyes  sparkled  with  ex- 
citement ;  the  flush  of  the  peach  was  upon 
her  cheeks,  and  her  coral  lips  trembled  with 
laughter.  I  had  approached  and  added  my 
quota  of  sugared  compliment  and  audacious 
badinage  to  the  conversation.  She  giggled 
convulsively  at  my  words,  and  presently  per- 
mitted me  to  carry  her  off  to  the  dancing- 
room.  I  was  not  blind  to  the  fact  that  her 
figure  perhaps  appeared  cumbrous  and  un- 
wieldy amid   the   mazes   of  the  waltz,  or  that 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  5 1 

her  feet  did  not  move  with  the  fairy-Hke  agility 
of  more  sylph-hke  beings;  but  what  rapture 
I  experienced  a  few  minutes  later  in  fanning 
her  blown  and  heated  loveliness  in  the  little 
alcove  which  leads  out  from  the  main  apart- 
ments !  Did  she  not  propose  that  we  should 
eat  our  supper  there,  and  send  me  for  filet 
and  salad,  and  afterwards  for  pink  ice-cream? 
"  Be  sure  it  is  pink,  for  I  hate  lemon  and 
pineapple,"  she  cried,  beseechingly;  and  yet, 
when  I  returned  with  a  liberal  portion  of  the 
confection  she  craved,  the  winsome  girl  thought 
mine,  which  was  a  delicacy  known  as  parfait 
ati  cafe,  looked  nicer,  and  consented,  upon  due 
importunity,  to  taste  a  spoonful  of  the  same. 
In  return,  she  insisted  that  the  other  half  of 
a  luscious  jelly-cake  on  her  plate  should  be 
transferred  to  my  lips ;  and  when  in  the  en- 
deavor to  accomplish  this  feat  I  dropped  a 
bit  of  the  dainty  on  her  dress,  she  gave 
a  hilarious  little  shriek,  accompanied  by  the 
phrase,  "  You  horrid,  clumsy  thing!"  Once 
more  did  my  heart  thrill  with  joy  at  the  sound 


52  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

of  these  accents  of  maiden  ecstasy.  Was  it 
for  nothing,  forsooth,  that  she  called  me  by 
so  spontaneous  an  appellation? 

No,  I  thought,  I  will  go  home  and  sleep 
tranquilly.  With  her  sweet  voice  ringing  in 
my  ears,  I  need  not  fear  the  predictions  of 
gossips.  She  shall  be  mine,  —  mine  for  eter- 
nity! Therewith  I  swallowed  another  glass  of 
champagne,  and  left  the  two  detractors  of  my 
Blanche  still  crooning  in  their  corner.  I  glided 
down  the  silent  staircase  of  the  now  deserted 
club-house  and  sought  the  street.  As  I  reached 
the  doorway,  a  cab  drew  up,  the  driver  of  which 
I  accosted. 

"Ay,  ay,  sir,  in  a  moment." 

So  saying,  he  descended  from  his  perch  and 
opened  the  vehicle.  A  young  man,  armed  with 
a  hat-box,  got  out  and  ran  up  the  club  steps. 
We  exchanged  glances  in  passing.  Doubtless 
I  was  not  recognized,  but  the  cold  tremor 
which  vibrated  along  my  spine  convinced  me 
that  the  stranger  was  no  other  than  my  victim 
of  the  railway  station. 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  S3 

"  An  accident,"  I  heard  him  declare  to  the 
porter  who  met  him  at  the  door ;  "  our  train 
was  delayed  three  hours." 

Yes,  it  was  he;  the  voice  was  the  same.  I 
flung  myself  into  the  cab.  "  Drive  anywhere," 
I  cried  to  the  man ;  and  it  was  only  the  latter's 
insinuation  that  I  was  intoxicated  which  aroused 
me  to  an  appreciation  of  the  absurdity  of  my 
order. 

We  met  in  the  drawing-room  of  the  Lombard 
house  next  day  ;  that  is  to  say,  the  new- 
comer and  myself.  I  entered  with  a  step  — 
the  noiselessness  of  which  was  not  premedi- 
tated —  upon  a  scene  where  my  presence  was 
superfluous.  I  have  no  desire  —  for  it  is  far  from 
my  wont  to  gloat  over  the  misfortunes  of  others 
• —  to  particularize  regarding  the  situation.  Suf- 
fice it  to  state  that  he  whose  eloquent  posture 
I  interrupted  left  town  by  the  evening  train, 
without  seeing  the  realization  of  the  hope  which 
doubtless  had  prompted  his  journey.  To  say 
I  was  happy  would  be  but  a  feeble  epitome 
of   the   sensations   I   experienced    when,   after 


54  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

his  departure,  I  played  cat's-cradle  with  Blanche 
on  the  sofa  in  the  waning  light  of  the  November 
afternoon. 

I  think  it  was  this  very  evening  that  before 
retiring  for  the  night  I  drew  from  my  vest 
pocket  Aunt  Selina's  bauble  and  scrutinized  it 
with  care.  It  was  a  perfect  heart,  save  for  a 
trifling  blemish  where  the  slice  had  been  glued 
on  by  my  aged  relative.  There  were  fine  blue 
lines  permeating  the  surface  of  what  closely 
resembled  flesh  and  blood,  so  much  the  more, 
indeed,  now  that  contact  with  my  body  had 
given  a  semblance  of  human  warmth  to  the 
material.  I  pensively  weighed  the  trinket  for 
some  minutes  in  the  palm  of  my  hand,  then, 
sighing  heavily,  restored  it  to  its  hiding-place. 

One  morning,  ten  days  later,  I  stood  packing 
my  trunk  amid  the  disorder  of  a  littered  apart- 
ment My  effects,  which  bore  the  traces  of 
more  than  a  fortnight's  sojourn  from  home,  were 
scattered  in  all  directions.  I  tossed  them  into 
their  receptacle  with  the  air  of  one  who  has 
ceased  to  concern  himself  for  the  time  regarding 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  55 

personal  trigness,  but  ever  and  anon  a  sigh  es- 
caped my  lips,  and  I  would  for  several  minutes 
perambulate  the  chamber. 

When  at  last  the  task  was  completed,  I  sought 
my  toilet  table,  upon  which  lay  a  mass  of  hete- 
rogeneous articles  reserved  for  further  inspec- 
tion. I  raised  therefrom  in  turn  a  half-dozen 
notes,  all  in  the  same  handwriting ;  a  trio  of  ger- 
man  favors,  two  in  the  form  of  stars  and  one  a 
tinkling  bell;  a  string,  the  same  with  which  I 
had  played  cat's-cradle ;  a  couple  of  bits  of  rib- 
bon ;  two  theatre  checks ;  and  a  withered  rose- 
bud. 

The  notes  were  short,  and  contained  invita- 
tions to  dinner,  or  thanks  for  flowers  which  I 
had  sent.  I  read  them  each  twice,  and,  pressing 
my  lips  upon  the  signature  of  the  last,  arranged 
them  in  a  packet,  around  which  I  tied  one  of 
the  pieces  of  ribbon.  The  remaining  objects  I 
collected  carefully  in  a  small  box,  which  I  tied 
with  the  other.  This  done,  I  rang  for  a  cab, 
and,  having  consigned  the  treasures  to  my 
trunk,  put  the  finishing  touches  to  my  toilet. 


56  TEE  KNAVE  OF  HEARTS. 

There  was  on  the  table  from  which  I  had  just 
removed  these  relics  an  envelope  of  some  slight 
bulk,  addressed  and  sealed  with  my  crest,  —  a 
greyhound  in  the  leash,  with  the  motto,  cogfiosce 
occasionem.  This  I  now  placed  with  delibera- 
tion in  my  pocket-book. 

The  coachman,  in  accordance  with  my  direc- 
tions, drew  up  at  the  Lombard  mansion.  Blanche 
was  at  home,  and  rose  smilingly  to  greet  me  as  I 
entered.  So  fresh  and  comely  was  her  appear- 
ance, that  some  minutes  elapsed  before  I  could 
control  myself  sufficiently  to  disclose  my  ulti- 
matum. 

"  What !  "  she  cried,  "  going  to-day?  " 

"  Yes,  it  is  imperative.  Business  of  impor- 
tance calls  me  home.  I  am  a  lawyer,  you  know, 
Miss  Blanche,  and  the  law  is  a  severe  task- 
master." 

I  spoke  these  words  with  an  air  of  quiet  de- 
cision, which  yet  was  imbued  with  an  appro- 
priate flavor  of  disappointment  at  this  necessary 
breach  in  our  intercourse.  I  sucked  the  head  of 
my  stick  and  looked  mournfully  at  the  carpet. 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  S7 

"  I  am  sorry,  —  real  sorry,"  she  said,  and  be- 
came grave  and  silent  in  her  turn. 

Her  cheeks  seemed  flushed.  I  pitied  the  girl 
from  the  bottom  of  my  heart.  I  would  have 
done  much  at  the  time  to  blunt  the  edge  of  the 
pain  which  I  knew  she  was  suffering,  and  was 
to  suffer.  Anything  short  of  an  impassioned 
avowal  of  love  was  her's  to  command ;  but  that 
was  a  step  beyond  which  conscience  would  not 
permit  me  to  proceed,  for  I  did  not  feel  that 
she  was  the  spirit  in  whose  companionship  my 
every  aspiration  would  find  content. 

"  Yes,"  I  observed,  making  use  of  language 
more  metaphorical  than  was  my  custom  when 
talking  with  her,  "  we  are  but  shuttlecocks  tossed 
about  by  fate.  No  one  is  fully  able  to  carve  out 
his  destiny.  One  moment  we  are  wholly  happy, 
the  next  some  roistering  wind  scatters  our 
schemes  like  ashes." 

She  made  no  reply,  and  as  the  old  look  of 
constraint  clothed  her  expression,  I  feared  lest 
I  might  be  soaring  above  her  comprehension. 
By  a  few  adroit  sentences  I  led  the  conversation 


58  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

into  a  less  serious  channel,  and  sought  to  free 
our  interview  from  embarrassment. 

My  efforts  were  only  partially  successful,  for 
the  reason  that  I  could  not  completely  disguise 
the  feelings  of  regard  and  friendliness  I  enter- 
tained toward  her.  I  found  myself  expressing 
the  hope  that  I  should  soon  be  able  to  return. 
As  an  offset  to  these  expressions  of  interest, 
Blanche  absented  herself  from  the  room  a 
minute,  and  reappeared  with  a  tobacco-pouch 
of  tasteful  design,  which  she  had  manufactured 
as  payment  for  the  forfeit  lost  to  me.  It  was  a 
trophy  well  worth  possessing ;  one  that  I  could 
point  to  with  complacency  in  the  future  as  the 
work  of  fair  hands  other  than  those  of  a  kins- 
woman. I  told  her  that  I  should  prize  her  gift 
as  among  my  most  precious  possessions. 

I  proceeded  to  take  out  the  envelope  from 
my  pocket-book.  I  rose  from  my  seat  with  the 
gestures  of  one  about  to  take  his  leave,  and, 
after  a  preliminary  cough,  said,  — 

"You  must  know.  Miss  Blanche,  that  I  find 
it  very  difficult  to  tear  myself  away  from  this 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  59 

city.  My  stay  here  has  been  eminently  agree- 
able, and  for  the  larger  portion  —  indeed  I  may 
say  all  —  of  my  pleasure  I  am  indebted  to  you. 
I  earnestly  trust  we  shall  meet  in  the  near  future, 
and  that  in  the  mean  time  you  will  regard  me  as 
one  of  your  sincere  well-wishers.  Pray,  permit 
me  to  leave  with  you  this  slight  token  of  regard. 
I  wish  it  were  of  greater  value.  I  shall  allow 
you  to  examine  it  at  your  leisure."  So  saying 
I  passed  the  envelope  to  her  with  a  bow,  and 
took  my  departure  after  a  hearty  handshaking. 

My  words  had  not  the  unfaltering  flow  that 
they  present  when  committed  to  paper.  The 
stammer  of  diffident  youth  impeded  my  utter- 
ance, and  I  was  not  sorry  to  find  myself  again 
in  the  cab  whirling  rapidly  toward  my  hotel. 
Despite  the  general  character  of  my  regret  at 
parting,  I  experienced  already  a  certain  buoy- 
ancy of  spirit,  a  sensation,  as  it  were,  of  a  weight 
removed.  I  was  still  free,  and  the  reflection, 
though  but  partially  entertained,  caused  me 
self-congratulation.  Nevertheless,  I  sighed  once 
or  twice  with  spontaneous  intensity,  and  drawing 


6o  THE  KNAVE  OF  HEARTS. 

forth  my  note-book  once  more  I  wrote,  as  a 
summing  up  of  the  entire  situation :  — 
"  She  has  a  piece  of  my  heart." 
It  was  that  which  the  envelope  contained. 

Evening  saw  me  established  in  the  centre  of 
my  family  circle.  They  questioned  me  with 
interest  regarding  my  travels,  and  dwelt  admir- 
ingly on  such  details  of  adventure  as  I  saw  fit 
to  relate.  Aunt  Selina  sat  knitting  silently  in 
her  corner,  but  I  could  tell  from  her  expression 
that  she  judged  me  aright,  nor  for  an  instant 
feared  lest  I  had  become  entangled.  A  smile 
suggestive  of  confidence  and  pride  hovered 
upon  her  lips.  It  was  reserved  for  my  sister 
Julia  Pierson  to  probe  the  wound  which  rankled 
in  my  breast.  The  child,  who  had  listened  to 
my  anecdotes  with  an  air  of  what  was  almost 
disdain,  saw  fit  to  inquire  in  a  meaning  tone  if 
I  knew  a  Miss  Blanche  Lombard. 

"Miss  Blanche  Lombard?     Yes,  JuUa." 
"  Oh !     You  did  not  mention  her,"  said  the 
tormentor,  dryly. 


THE  KNAVE  OF  HEARTS.  6l 

"We  heard  that  you  were  very  attentive  to 
her,"  remarked  Alice  Maud. 

"  And  ate  ice-cream  with  her  from  the  same 
plate,"  piped  up  little  Medora. 

"  A  man  cannot  speak  more  than  once  to  the 
same  girl  without  being  reported  engaged  to 
her !  "  I  exclaimed  with  indignation.  "  What 
nonsense  you  all  talk !  Miss  Lombard  and  I 
are  friends,  —  nothing  more.  She  is  a  charming 
girl,  though,"  I  added,  and  perhaps  I  sighed,  for 
two  of  my  sisters  tittered  audibly. 

But  Julia  Pierson  sat  bolt  upright  and  frowned 
instead.  "What  will  Leila  Johnson  say?"  she 
inquired,  piteously. 

"  Come,  children,  come  !  "  broke  in  the  voice 
of  Aunt  Selina,  "  It  is  time  for  bed.  You  for- 
get that  your  brother  is  the  Knave  of  Hearts." 


III. 

I  FOUND  my  friend  "The  Professor,"  so  styled, 
not  from  the  fact  of  his  being  an  officer  in  any 
institution  of  learning,  but  because  of  his  re- 
puted wide  information  on  all  matters  of  popu- 
lar interest,  waiting  for  me  as  the  Bar  Harbor 
steamer  reached  the  dock.  I  had  written  him 
to  engage  me  rooms,  and  here  he  was  at  hand 
to  greet  me  in  person.  I  had  come  with  the 
expectation  of  spending  at  least  a  month  in  this 
salubrious  watering-place,  for  it  was  vacation 
time.  The  courts  were  closed,  and  it  seemed 
quite  useless  to  sit  kicking  my  heels  in  my 
office.  Besides,  I  had  not  been  away  from 
home  since  my  return  from  New  York  in  the 
early  winter. 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  63 

The  journey  in  the  steamer  was  delightful. 
I  had  sat  on  the  deck  far  into  the  night,  wrapped 
in  my  ulster,  with  a  pipe  and  the  stars  as  my 
only  companions.  A  pair  of  laughing  girls, 
whose  chaperone  was  ensconced  aft  of  the  paddle- 
box  with  a  male  friend,  would,  I  am  confident, 
have  been  glad  of  my  society,  inasmuch  as  they 
strolled  past  me  arm  in  arm  more  frequently 
than  was  necessary,  and,  though  talking  with 
volubility  to  each  other,  giggled  consciously. 
But  I  was  not  drawn  toward  them.  They  were 
both  beautiful  in  the  physical  sense  of  the  word, 
and  would  probably  have  greatly  attracted  one 
whose  experience  of  womankind  was  more  lim- 
ited; but  there  was  not  in  the  countenance  of 
either  a  subtle  something  which  I  felt  essential 
to  her  who  could  hope  to  chain  my  attention.  I 
had  noticed  them  at  supper,  and  though  aware, 
as  my  eye  sped  along  and  around  the  table,  that 
save  for  their  charms  the  company  were  com- 
monplace, I  gave  them  no  encouragement,  nor 
even  smiled  when  the  more  winsome  of  the  two 
upset  her  teacup  in  kittenish  by-play.      There 


64  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

is  such  a  thing  as  a  conscience,  and  I  was  not 
one  to  trifle  in  cold  blood  with  a  preference  that 
I  could  never  expect  to  reciprocate. 

So  I  sat  and  pondered  alone ;  and  the  moon 
rose  from  the  water  and  cast  a  silver  shadow 
athwart  the  foaming  wake.  A  pleasant  breeze 
played  on  the  deep,  sowing  the  fields  of  ocean 
with  dusky  furrows. 

Is  there,  then,  thought  I,  no  spirit  in  the  vast 
universe  to  mate  with  mine ;  no  soul  in  whose 
companionship  my  every  aspiration  would  find 
content?  The  beauty  of  the  face,  unillumined 
by  the  light  of  intelligence,  is  to  me  but  a  wan 
grace,  and  idle  laughter  jars  upon  my  ear  as  the 
clang  of  a  tiresome  bell.  I  lifted  my  face  to  the 
peaceful  skies  and  puffed  pensively. 

The  disturbing  approach  of  the  flirtatious 
young  ladies  again  interrupted  my  meditations. 
One  of  them  in  passing  by  contrived  to  drop  her 
glove,  which  fell  within  a  short  distance  of  where 
I  was  sitting.  A  tittering  ensued  which  would,  I 
dare  say,  have  captivated  a  younger  man,  but 
I,  rising  from  my  seat  and  picking  up  the  glove, 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  65 

restored  it  to  the  owner  with  an  air  which, 
though  completely  gallant,  was  grave,  and 
adapted  to  convey  the  impression  that  such 
coquetry  was  distasteful  to  me. 

"  Thank  you  very  much !  "  the  culprit  ex- 
claimed with  polite  effusion;  and  as  the  girls 
resumed  their  promenade  I  could  hear  their 
muffled  laughter  salute  the  darkness. 

As  a  sequel  to  my  insinuation  I  presently 
left  my  seat,  and  deserting  the  after-deck  of 
the  steamer  passed  through  the  saloon  to  the 
weather-haunted  seclusion  of  the  bow.  Upon 
emerging  from  the  glare  of  the  cabin  my  eyes 
at  first  led  me  to  believe  that  I  was  alone,  and 
under  this  impression  I  sank  upon  a  coil  of 
rope,  and  resting  the  back  of  my  head  upon  my 
clasped  hands  gazed  up  at  the  heavens.  The 
breeze  was  more  perceptible,  but  not  too  cool 
for  comfort.  Here  I  could  be  undisturbed  and 
give  the  rein  to  fancy.  I  chanced  to  lower  my 
eyes,  —  it  may  have  been  the  frou-frou  of  a 
skirt  that  occasioned  my  action,  —  but  whatso- 
ever the  cause,  they  fell  upon  a  slim  and  youth- 
S 


66  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

ful  figure  not  many  paces  distant  leaning  against 
the  bulwark  of  the  vessel.  A  close-fitting  ulster 
betrayed  the  exquisite  symmetry  of  her  outline, 
and  the  flowing  monotony  of  this  garment  was 
relieved  by  a  lace  scarf  wound  tight  about  her 
neck,  the  ends  of  w-hich  fluttered  in  the  breeze. 
A  billy-cock  hat  reposing  upon  a  wealth  of 
curling,  dark  chestnut  hair,  cropped  short,  pre- 
sumably during  the  ravages  of  fever,  and  neatly 
banged,  shaded  a  face  of  rare  loveliness.  The 
girl  was  gazing  up  at  the  sky  with  a  yearning 
intensity  of  expression  which  the  ivory  pallor  of 
her  complexion,  as  seen  under  the  beams  of 
night's  empress,  well  became.  Her  hands  were 
held  behind  her  back,  and  her  head  was  poised 
a  little  upon  one  side. 

I  scarcely  breathed,  so  great  was  my  dread 
lest  any  motion  of  mine  should  disturb  the 
beautiful  apparition.  It  gave  me  a  thrill  of 
delicious  pleasure  to  feel  that  we  two  were  alone 
under  the  glorious  heavens,  with  the  rhythmical 
swash  of  the  billows  as  the  sole  violators  of  the 
sacred  silence  which  appealed  to  both  our  souls. 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  6/ 

Who  was  she?  Whence  had  she  sprung?  Was 
she  some  spirit  arisen  from  the  deep  or  de- 
scended along  the  starry  ways,  come  to  mock 
me  with  a  peep  at  the  pose  and  poesy  of  the 
immortals?  I  closed  my  eyes  to  make  sure 
that  they  were  open,  half  troubled  with  the 
dread  lest  I  were  dreaming;  and  when  I 
looked  again  the  face  and  figure  had  faded 
into  distance. 

At  least  so  I  fancied,  and  in  the  fulness  of 
disappointment  I  raised  myself  upon  my  elbow 
and  stared  about  me.  Ah,  there  she  was  !  She 
had  merely  changed  her  position,  and  stood 
gazing  out  to  sea  from  the  opposite  side  of  the 
deck.  Her  eyes  now  wandered  over  the  water, 
and  she  had  made  a  visor  for  her  sight  with  one 
small,  gloved  hand.  Her  pale  profile  seemed  to 
me  an  eloquent  breviary  of  pure  and  aspiring 
sentiment. 

Presently  she  lifted  her  glance  once  more  to 
the  serene  heavens,  and  overcome  perhaps  by 
the  burden  of  her  thought,  her  gentle  spirit 
found  expression  in  a  sigh.     Then  it  was  that 


68  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

my  delicate  sense  of  honor  warned  me  that  by 
the  r6Ie  of  eavesdropper  I  was  wronging  my 
own  nature  no  less  than  the  fascinating  stranger, 
and  a  cough  falling  upon  the  stillness  informed 
her  that  she  was  not  alone.  At  the  sound  she 
turned  her  head  very  slightly  in  my  direction, 
then  looked  away.  She  did  not  alter  her  pose. 
Thus  it  was  for  some  minutes.  Then  she  made 
a  few  graceful  steps  along  the  deck  and  entered 
the  saloon. 

I  followed  her  as  speedily  as  my  fine  percep- 
tion of  propriety  permitted,  and  had  the  morti- 
fication to  distinguish  the  skirt  of  her  ulster 
disappear  with  a  tantalizing  swirl  behind  the 
door  of  a  state-room.  I  saw  her  no  more  that 
night ;  but  in  the  early  morning,  when  the  pas- 
sengers were  transferred  to  another  steamer,  we 
chanced  to  cross  the  gangway  at  the  same 
moment,  and  a  single  glance  assured  me  that 
night  had  rather  robbed  her  of  her  charms  than 
exaggerated  their  lustre,  for  the  sunlight  re- 
vealed the  intelligent  sparkle  of  her  deep  brown 
eyes  and   the  red  lips  which  seemed  a   dewy 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  69 

rosebud  nestling  on  the  cream-white  surface  of 
Ker  countenance.  She  was  in  the  company  of 
a  venerable-looking  gentleman  and  his  wife, 
whom  I  judged  to  be  merely  her  protectors  for 
the  occasion,  seeing  that  she  bore  no  resem- 
blance to  either  of  them.  As  she  turned  her 
head  midway  upon  the  gang-plank  to  interro- 
gate the  lady  in  question,  her  eyes  encountered 
mine,  and  a  subtle  tremor  of  my  frame  told  me 
that  I  had  detected  recognition  therein.  No 
bold  nor  coquettish  look  was  there,  but  some- 
thing which  suggested  the  sympathy  of  those 
who  are  not  wholly  strangers.  Once  more  she 
sought  the  retirement  of  her  state-room,  nor 
did  I  catch  a  glimpse  of  her  again  before  the 
steamer  reached  the  landing. 

As  I  have  previously  observed,  the  Professor 
was  waiting  for  me,  and  I  could  distinguish  his 
pleasant  countenance  peering  up  from  the 
throng  which  lined  the  quay,  —  a  throng  where 
youth  and  beauty  stood  allied.  A  large  pro- 
portion of  the  feminine  element  were  here  as- 
sembled, in  all  the  variegated  attractiveness  of 


70  THE   KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

summer  attire,  anxious  to  note  the  latest  arrivals ; 
while  the  occasional  young  men  of  the  place, 

"  Rari  nantes  in  gurgite  vasto," 
meandered  through  their  midst,  statuesque  in 
knickerbockers. 

So  pleasing  a  spectacle  would  doubtless  have 
appealed  strongly  to  the  ordinary  worshipper 
of  womanhood,  but  I  must  needs  confess  that 
in  me  this  phalanx  of  loveliness  aroused  no 
subtler  an  emotion  than  the  artistic  homage 
which  every  gallant  soul  delights  to  offer  on 
the  altar  of  the  gentler  sex.  My  outward 
glance,  though  dazzled,  dwelt  neither  here 
nor  there.  Conscious  as  I  may  have  been 
that  a  line  of  beautiful  eyes  were  riveted  upon 
my  person,  perhaps  in  some  cases  with  not  un- 
flattering emphasis,  I  sought  not  to  focus  my 
own  in  any  one  direction,  but  followed  my 
friend  the  Professor  with  an  air  of  complete, 
though  well-bred,  indifference.  Only  once  I 
turned  my  head,  and  then  it  was  behind  my 
shoulders,  as  if  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  file  of 
passengers  still  waiting  to  disembark. 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  7 1 

The  Professor  was  in  his  happiest  mood. 
An  authoritative  and  thoroughly  conversant 
frequenter  of  the  place,  he  was  the  person 
of  all  others  to  have  at  one's  right  hand  upon 
arrival,  and  he  hastened  to  supply  me  with 
sundry  bits  of  information  adapted  to  set  me 
on  the  right  track,  as  he  called  it. 

"  I  have  been  here  for  years,  and  know  all 
the  ropes.  Put  yourself  in  my  hands,  my  dear 
fellow,  and  you  will  be  all  right.  Now,  don't 
go  and  start  anything  in  a  hurry.  Keep  your 
head  cool  for  a  day  or  two,  until  you  've  had 
time  to  look  round  a  bit.  The  woods  are  full  of 
them,  and  ten  to  one,  if  you  go  it  blind,  you 
will  make  a  mistake." 

"  Thanks.  I  shall  remember,"  I  answered, 
perhaps  a  little  nettled  withal  at  his  assumption 
of  superiority. 

"  Do  you  see  that  quiet-looking  girl  with  the 
sunflower  in  her  hat  ?  She 's  been  engaged 
four  times.  You  would  n't  think  it,  would  you  ? 
I  tell  you  it 's  wonderful  how  they  keep  their 
looks.     Any  one  might  imagine  perfectly  well 


^2  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

she  was  on  the  sunny  side  of  twenty.  It 's  a 
wicked  world.  But  perhaps,"  continued  the 
Professor,  "  you  're  not  going  in  for  that  style 
of  thing.  Suit  yourself  It 's  liberty  hall,  you 
know,  and  no  one  is  obliged  here  to  do  anything 
he  does  n't  want  to." 

"  I  mean  to  keep  pretty  quiet,"  said  I. 

"There,  now,"  he  observed,  without  heeding 
my  remark,  "  is  a  girl  who  might  fill  the  bill, 
I  fancy.  This  is  her  first  season  here,  and  she 's 
catching  the  step  pretty  fast.  If  it  were  n't  that 
I  'm  occupied  in  another  quarter,  I  should  al- 
most feel  disposed  to  try  my  own  hand  in  that 
direction.     Holloa!  do  you  know  her?" 

This  interrogation  was  caused  by  the  bow 
of  marked  cordiality  which  I  bestowed  on  the 
young  lady  in  question,  for  as  my  eyes  followed 
the  direction  of  my  friend's  glance  they  en- 
countered the  buxom  face  of  Blanche  Lombard, 
under  the  shadow  of  an  enormous  muslin  shade- 
hat  trimmed  with  pink  roses.  The  recognition 
between  us  was  swift  and  mutual.  Her  smile  of 
undoubted  pleasure  was  followed  by  a  faint  blush 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  73 

and  a  coolness  of  demeanor  which  prompted  me 
to  throw  into  my  bow  as  much  as  was  possible 
that  was  brotherly  and  kind. 

"  Oh,  yes.  I  know  her  quite  well.  She 's 
from  New  York,  and  a  nice  girl,"  I  answered. 

"  All  right,"  said  the  Professor.  "  If  you  are 
tired,  and  want  something  new,  what  do  you  say 
to  the  one  standing  next  to  her?  She  's  a  good 
deal  the  same  style,  excepting  the  color  of  her 
hair.  'You  pays  your  money  and  you  takes 
your  choice,'  as  the  poet  says." 

I  was  silent  for  a  moment. 

"  My  dear  fellow,  neither  of  those  girls  has  a 
particle  of  soul  in  her  face.  I  tell  you  what, 
Professor,  I  'm  weary  of  the  flesh-and-blood 
type  of  beauty.  What  I'm  looking  for  is  a 
woman  with  expression  in  her  countenance,  — 
a  woman  who  is  intelligent,  and  can  appreciate 
something  beside  nonsense." 

He  looked  at  me  for  a  moment  with  an  air 
of  surprise- 

"Well,  well!  why  didn't  you  say  so  before? 
There  are  all  sorts  down  here.     You  've  only  to 


74  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

speak  up  and  you  'II  be  answered.     So  it 's  soul 

you  want,  is  it?  "  he  continued.    "  I  guess  I  shall 

have  to  trot  you  up  to  little  Fluffy  Price.     She 

was  complaining  the  other  day  that  none  of  the 

men  have  souls.     You  '11  find  plenty  of  soul,  my 

dear  boy,  if  that 's  all  you  are  worried  about." 

The   Professor  chuckled  at  his  own   humor, 

and  slapping  me  paternally  on  the  back,  began 

to  murmur  sotio  voce  the  words  of  a  favorite 

ditty  of  the  hour :  — 

"  Some  day,  some  day, 
Some  day  I  shall  meet  you. 
Love  I  know  not,  when  or  how ; 
Love  I  know  not,  w-h-e-n  or  h-o-w  ; 
0-o-nly  th-i-s,  only  this,  that  once  you  loved  me : 
0-o-nly  th-i-s,  I  lo-v-e  "  — 

The  sound  of  wheels  close  beside  us  cut  short 
the  Professor's  song,  and  at  the  same  moment 
he  uttered  an  exclamation  of  wonder  and  ad- 
miration. Turning  my  eyes,  I  beheld  my  lovely 
apparition  of  the  night  before  abreast  of  us, 
driving  in  one  of  the  hotel  vehicles,  in  com- 
pany with  her  aged  escorts.  The  Professor 
glanced  at  me  with  suspicion. 


THE  KNAVE    OF  HEARTS.  75 

"Who's  that  girl?" 

"  I  have  no  idea." 

"  Did  n't  she  come  on  the  same  steamer  as 
you?" 

"I  think  very  likely." 

"  '  Think  very  likely'?  Come,  now,  you  can't 
fool  me.  Confess  at  once  that  you  had  her  to 
yourself  all  last  evening." 

"  But  I  did  n't.  I  never  spoke  to  her  in  my 
life." 

I  proceeded  to  say  that  she  had  remained  in 
her  state-room  all  save  a  few  minutes  of  the 
entire  journey. 

The  Professor  seemed  thoughtful,  and  I  no- 
ticed that  he  looked  at  his  watch  once  or  twice 
with  an  air  of  annoyance. 

"  I  promised  to  go  on  a  picnic  this  afternoon," 
he  said,  somewhat  ruefully.  "  It 's  against  my 
rule,  but  I  wanted  to  oblige  some  one.  See 
here,  why  don't  you  take  my  place?  They  'd 
be  tickled  to  death  to  have  a  new  arrival,  and 
I  've  got  some  sketching  that  I  shall  be  glad  to 
finish." 


76  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

« 
I  answered  that  I  could  not  think  of  de- 
priving him  of  so  pleasant  an  entertainment, 
and  after  due  inspection  of  my  rooms  we 
parted.  Instinct  told  me  that  I  had  no  time 
to  lose,  and  having  doffed  my  travelling  cos- 
tume for  more  becoming  attire,  I  repaired  to 
the  particular  hotel  which  I  had  been  informed 
was  the  centre  of  social  activity.  The  piazza 
was  a  scene  of  much  gayety  and  bustle,  and 
it  required  some  minutes  of  search  to  discover 
the  whereabouts  of  Blanche  Lombard  among 
the  bevy  of  girls  that  were  there  congregated. 
To  her  I  devoted  ten  minutes'  conversation,  in 
which  space  of  time  I  am  confident  of  having 
nipped  in  the  bud  any  preconceived  ideas  on 
her  part  of  a  continuation  of  the  winter's  rela- 
tions. I  was  extremely  friendly,  and  inquired 
earnestly  concerning  her  health  and  that  of  her 
family.  We  compared  our  impressions  of  the 
scenery  of  the  place  and  its  manners  and  cus- 
toms. I  should  have  been  pleased  to  tell  her 
that  the  tobacco-pouch  had  been  of  great  ser- 
vice to   me,  but   for   the   fear   lest   she  might 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  77 

misconstrue  such  a  remark;  and  in  order  to 
avoid  all  danger  of  a  misunderstanding  in  re- 
gard to  our  position,  I  appeared  unable  to 
recall  at  first  one  or  two  of  the  most  interest- 
ing episodes  during  our  former  intimacy.  I 
noticed  that  by  degrees  the  light  in  her  eyes 
waned,  and  an  expression  of  cold  reserve  set- 
tled upon  her  features.  I  slipped  away  pres- 
ently, with  the  remark  that  I  hoped  to  see  her 
often  during  my  stay. 

I  entered  straightway  the  office  of  the  hotel, 
and  cannot  say  I  was  surprised  to  find  the 
Professor  bending  over  the  register. 

"  Holloa ! "  he  said,  as  I  thrust  my  head 
into  juxtaposition  with  his;  "is  that  you?  I 
am  looking  to  see  if  my  cousin  has  arrived. 
He  was  expected  to-day." 

I  laughed  incredulously,  and  glancing  down 
upon  the  open  page  saw  that  the  Professor's 
index-finger  rested  just  below  three  names,  the 
perusal  of  which  caused  me  an  exquisite  thrill. 

Thomas  Goldsmith  and  wife,  Philadelphia. 
Miss  May  Corcoran,  Philadelphia. 


78  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

"  It 's  too  bad,  Professor,"  said  I,  "  you  're 
obliged  to  go  to  that  picnic.  I  should  like  to 
have  had  a  quiet  chat  with  you." 

He  was  stroking  his  chin  thoughtfully.  He 
turned  to  me  with  a  mysterious  wink,  and  re- 
marked, — 

"  When  you  have  had  my  experience  of  these 
things  you  will  discover  that  it  is  n't  always  the 
sickest  child  who  doesn't  get  well.  There's 
nobody  to  introduce  you." 

After  which  Parthian  shaft  he  waved  his  hand 
at  me  by  way  of  a  farewell,  and  started  off  on 
the  dog-trot. 

I  sought  the  piazza  again,  and  settling  myself 
in  a  comfortable  chair  apart  from  the  throng,  pro- 
ceeded to  inscribe  my  note-book  as  follows :  — 

No.  2.     May  Corcoran. 
Residence,  Philadelphia. 

Brunette,  rare  intelligence,  deep  nature,  speaking 
eyes. 

MEMORANDA. 

Is  visiting  Bar  Harbor  with  aged  relatives  (prob- 
ably) .  Wears  the  look  of  a  woman  in  search  of  happi- 
ness of  which  she  has  dreamed,  but  never  experienced. 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  79 

I  lighted  a  cigarette  and  abandoned  myself 
to  reverie. 

"  Bowser,"  I  said  at  length,  addressing  an 
employee  of  the  hotel  whom  I  had  heard  others 
accost  by  that  name,  "  is  there  a  spare  canoe 
I   can  have  for  this  evening?" 

"At  what  hour,  sir?" 

"  A  quarter  before  eight." 

It  was  now  just  three  o'clock.  I  resumed 
my  seat  and  sat  patient,  but  alert,  for  another 
hour.  The  piazza  by  this  time  had  become 
almost  vacant.  Its  occupants  had  scattered  in 
the  pursuance  of  various  expeditions,  and  only 
a  bunch  of  matrons  and  a  stray  couple  or  two 
remained  upon  the  scene. 

Suddenly  I  saw  her  who  was  mistress  of  my 
thoughts  —  no  other  than  the  charming  May 
Corcoran  —  step  quietly  from  the  threshold  and 
pass  down  the  steps  of  the  hotel.  She  had 
exchanged  her  ulster  and  billy-cock  hat  for  a 
trig  blue -flannel  suit  and  a  httle  round  hat 
with  a  loon's  wing  laid  along  the  side,  —  a 
simple  attire,  but  singularly  becoming   to  her 


8o  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

style  of  beauty.  Just  below  her  throat  she 
wore  a  deep  red  rose,  which  matched  in  shade 
the  sun-umbrella  carried  across  her  shoulder. 
Her  hand  held  a  book  that  to  my  thinking 
resembled  some  poet's  work  in  the  fashion  of 
its  binding.  She  passed  but  a  few  yards  from 
where  I  was  sitting,  and,  though  she  did  not 
look  in  my  direction,  I  felt  conscious  that  she 
realized  my  presence.  I  caught  a  glimpse  of 
her  face,  and  read  thereon  the  same  tale  of  ex- 
alted sentiment  which  had  appealed  to  me  the 
evening  before. 

I  saw  her  pursue  the  bend  of  the  road,  and 
become  lost  to  my  observation.  With  the  care- 
less air  of  one  who  saunters  merely  to  kill  time, 
I  left  the  piazza  and  followed  in  her  footsteps. 
A  few  moments  sufficed  to  screen  me  from  the 
scrutiny  of  the  hotel,  and  to  reveal  again  her 
graceful  figure  in  the  near  distance,  stepping 
along  the  highway.  Not  once  did  she  turn 
her  head,  but  something  told  me  that  she 
knew  I  was  behind. 

For  nearly  an  hour  she  continued  her  prog- 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  8 1 

ress.  Little  by  little  the  scene  changed,  and 
erelong  the  way  began  to  lead  upon  one  side 
of  the  wooded  banks  of  a  brook  which  flowed 
prattling  over  the  stones.  I  could  perceive  her 
skipping  with  spritelike  agility  from  rock  to 
rock,  when  sometimes  in  the  joy  of  her  pure 
heart  she  forsook  the  path  rough  with  the  roots 
of  gnarly  trees  for  the  margin  of  the  stream.  I 
ever  followed  after,  happy  in  the  ardor  of  pur- 
suit, and  saw  with  increasing  pleasure  the  rocks 
transformed  to  bowlders,  and  the  water  grow 
hoarse  and  foamy  with  its  struggles. 

At  last,  upon  emerging  around  a  bend  in  the 
course  of  the  valley,  I  beheld  her  close  at  hand, 
resting  against  a  smooth,  sloping  surface,  at  a 
spot  where  the  volume  of  water  lay  tranquil 
and  black  in  the  embrace  of  a  natural  basin,  — 
a  breathing-space  as  it  were  between  the  leap- 
ings  of  the  torrent.  The  book  lay  open  upon 
her  lap,  but  she  was  not  reading.  Her  eyes 
strayed  toward  the  western  sky,  already  saffron 
with  the  glow  of  the  setting  sun. 

With  nervous  yet  resolute  step  I  advanced 
6 


82  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

in  her  direction,  pausing  now  and  again  to 
catch  the  varied  effects  of  the  scenery.  At 
length  I  halted  just  above  where  she  was  sit- 
ting, and  stood  resting  on  my  cane,  surveying 
the  placid  pool.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  upon 
the  pages  of  the  open  volume. 

I  made  a  step  downward  to  the  side  of  the 
rock  against  which  she  was  leaning,  and  raising 
my  hat  with  consummate  politeness,  said,  — 

"  You  will,  perhaps,  permit  me  to  allude  to 
the  strong  love  of  the  beautiful  in  Nature  that 
seems  to  possess  us  alike.  If  I  am. not  mis- 
taken, I  have  the  honor  to  address  her  whose 
seclusion  last  evening  it  was  my  misfortune  to 
invade.  I  trust  you  will  accept  the  sincere,  if 
tardy,  compunction  that  I  offer." 

"  Oh,  sir,"  she  replied,  in  a  voice  that  seemed 
to  me  laden  with  the  perfume  of  an  old-time 
romance,  "  it  is  I  who  was  to  blame,  if  my 
bearing  on  that  occasion  suggested  reproach. 
Are  not  the  stars  and  the  sea  and  the  silver 
moon  free  for  all  to  gaze  upon  who  will  ? " 
She  looked  up  at  me  with  quiet  dignity. 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  83 

I  think  she  had  little  conception  of  the 
poetic  cadence  of  her  words,  but  for  me  they 
opened  a  new  vista  of  happiness.  I  thanked 
her  for  the  considerate  hght  in  which  she  saw 
fit  to  regard  my  intrusion. 

"  Is  not  this  exquisite !  "  I  added,  pointing 
with  my  cane  up  the  long  valley  where  we 
could  see  through  the  rifts  in  the  lindens  the 
twisting  current  tinged  with  the  pink  of  the 
dying  day.  "  I  am  one  to  whom  the  beau- 
ties of  Nature  are  an  unceasing  source  of 
pleasure." 

She  did  not  reply  to  my  observation,  but  I 
could  see  that  the  play  of  her  eyes  followed 
the  sweep  of  my  stick. 

"  Are  you,  like  myself,  a  stranger  in  these 
parts?"    I  queried. 

"  Yes.  I  have  never  been  to  Bar  Harbor 
before.  You  are  right,"  she  added,  "  it  is  very 
beautiful.  I  asked  my  friend  to  tell  me  the 
prettiest  walk,  and  she  directed  me  to  Duck 
Brook.     This,  I  suppose,  is  Duck  Brook." 

I  was  silent  in  turn. 


84  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

"Are  you  to  be  here  some  time,  Miss — is 
not  your  name  Corcoran?  Excuse  me  for  my 
boldness  in  asking.  But  something  prompted 
me  upon  arrival  to  make  inquiries  as  to  who 
you  might  be." 

She  blushed  a  little,  though  I  fancy  hers  was 
one  of  those  pale  complexions  where  the  blood, 
however  swift  it  may  surge  in  the  veins,  rises 
but  faintly  to  the  surface. 

"  Yes,  that  is  my  name.  As  to  my  length  of 
stay,  I  cannot  tell.  Indeed,  I  scarcely  know 
why  I  am  here.  I  was  at  Cape  May  three 
days  ago.  My  friend  Mrs.  Goldsmith  said 
she  was  going  to  Bar  Harbor,  and  would  I 
go  also  ?  Why  not  ?  thought  I  ;  and  here 
I  am." 

I  had  tossed  a  small  twig  into  the  pool,  and 
watched  it  whirled  about  by  the  relentless 
current. 

"  It  is  strange  to  think  how  largely  we 
are  the  victims  of  circumstance,"  I  observed. 
*'  Our  destiny  is  determined  for  us  much  as 
that  leaflet  is  borne  along  by  the  stream." 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  85 

My  words  seemed  for  the  first  time  to  cause 
her  genuine  interest.  She  sighed  gently  and 
said,  — 

*'  That  is  deeply  true."  She  continued  pres- 
ently, "  I  have  known  all  my  life  what  it  is 
to  struggle  against  fate." 

"  Indeed !  " 

But  I  believe  my  manner  conveyed  the 
sympathy  which  was  lacking  in  the  word  I 
employed. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  dreamily,  "  I  am  quite  alone 
in  the  world.     I  am  an  orphan." 

She  gazed  into  distance,  and  the  twilight 
which  transfigured  her  countenance  showed  also 
a  tear  drop  glistening  on  her  cheek. 

"  Poor  girl !  "    I  murmured. 

My  expression  seemed  to  arouse  her  to  a 
sense  of  the  unconventionality  of  her  confession. 

"  You  must  think  me  very  peculiar  to  talk 
to  a  complete  stranger  in  this  manner." 

"  By  no  means,"  1  responded,  venturing  to 
seat  myself  on  the  rock.  "  Besides,  I  do  not  feel 
as  if  we  were  wholly  strangers,  Miss  Corcoran." 


86  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

"No?    We  have  never  met  before,  surely?" 

"  I  believe  not.  But  there  are  certain  persons 
whom  on  a  short  acquaintance  one  feels  as  if 
one  had  known  for  a  lifetime." 

She  did  not  reply  at  once,  and  then  her  words 
were  rather  in  continuation  of  her  autobiography 
than  a  commentary  on  my  speech. 

"  My  summers  have  largely  been  spent  at 
fashionable  resorts,  where  it  was  impossible  to 
form  satisfactory  friendships.  There  is  so  much 
that  is  formal  and  heartless  in  the  society  of 
those  places.  I  have  heard  that  here  it  is 
allowable  to  meet  one's  fellow-creatures  with- 
out artificiality  and  upon  a  basis  of  mutual 
confidence." 

"  I  am  one  of  those,  Miss  Corcoran,  who  put 
no  belief  in  the  popular  fallacy  that  friendships 
between  the  sexes  are  out  of  the  question.  It 
seems  to  me  that  those  who  take  this  view  de- 
prive themselves  of  one  of  the  most  delightful 
of  human  joys.  The  society  of  a  high-souled 
and  intelligent  woman  is  my  idea  of  thorough 
happiness." 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  Sj 

She  tossed  a  pebble  into  the  water  and  gazed 
down  at  her  boots,  which,  though  fashioned  for 
climbing,  were  of  small  size. 

"  You  have  not  told  me  your  name  yet.  I  fear 
that  I  have  been  making  all  the  confidences." 

I  answered  that  it  was  Arthur  Lattimer ;  that 
I  was  from  Boston,  and  a  bachelor,  come  hither 
for  repose  after  the  excitements  of  the  winter. 

"  I,  too,  have  had  a  season  of  much  gayety," 
she  responded.  "  What  a  pleasure  it  is  to  be 
once  more  in  communion  with  Nature;  to 
breathe  the  pure,  invigorating  air,  and  feast  the 
eyes,  jaded  with  false  attractions,  on  the  real 
beauty  of  such  a  scene  as  this !  But  it  is  time 
for  me  to  be  moving  in  the  direction  of  home, 
as  the  sun  is  already  below  the  tops  of  the  pine- 
trees." 

We  pursued  the  way  together,  each  fascinated, 
as  it  seemed  to  me,  by  the  personality  of  the 
other.  I  found  her  a  rarely  appreciative  and 
sympathetic  listener,  a  woman  full  of  most  lofty 
and  suggestive  ideas  regarding  the  vital  ques- 
tions of  human  interest.     As  we  sauntered  along 


88  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

in  the  dusk  of  the  approaching  evening  the  noise 
of  a  buckboard  freighted  with  a  chorus  of  bhthe 
spirits  obhged  us  to  hug  the  footpath  to  escape 
the  cloud  of  dust  that  rose  from  its  wheels.  I 
recognized  the  Professor  ensconced  between  two 
young  ladies,  one  of  whom  I  perceived  to  be 
Blanche  Lombard.  The  flush  of  self-congratu- 
lation I  felt  glow  upon  my  cheek  was  tempered 
by  the  consciousness,  which  I  realized,  of  the 
gulf  that  lay  between  Blanche  and  me.  I  had 
loved  her  once  with  a  genuine  and  unfaltering 
fervor,  and  yet  how  vastly  inferior  her  most 
salient  charm  compared  with  those  of  her  who 
walked  beside  me !  This  reflection  for  a  short 
spell  saddened  my  brow,  and  was  the  occasion 
of  a  query  from  the  pale  beauty  as  to  why  I  was 
so  pensive. 

**  'T  is  nothing,"  I  answered,  "  but  one  of  those 
transient  clouds,  which,  whether  we  will  or  no, 
are  apt  to  dim  the  noontide  of  complete  happi- 
ness. Will  you  not,"  I  went  on  to  say,  "  allow 
me  the  pleasure  of  taking  you  out  in  a  canoe 
after  tea?     The  moon  will  be  superb." 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  89 

She  acquiesced,  and  just  then  we  reached  the 
hotel.  It  was  a  proud  moment  for  me  to  be 
her  escort  up  the  steps  and  through  the  cluster 
of  admiring  youths  about  the  door. 

"Shall  I  bring  my  banjo?"  she  asked,  as 
we  were  about  to  part. 

"By  all  means,"    I  murmured. 

I  was  hastening  to  my  rooms,  lost  in  bliss- 
ful reverie,  when  the  whistle  of  the  Professor 
caused  me  to  halt.  He  came  running  up  and 
put  his  arm  through  mine. 

"  Do  you  know  you  Ve  struck  one  of  the 
most  inveterate  flirts  in  the  whole  of  Phila- 
delphia?" 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  if  I  come  to  grief,  I  cannot 
say  that  I  was  not  warned.  Professor." 

Before  leaving  my  apartment  for  the  evening 
meal  I  transferred  to  my  note-book  the  tenderest 
memories  of  the  conversation  of  the  afternoon. 
"  I  have  known  all  my  life  what  it  is  to  struggle 
against  fate.  I  am  quite  alone  in  the  world,  and 
am  an  orphan." 

Is  there  a  sweeter  pleasure  to  be  imagined 


90  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

than  that  of  floating  under  a  harvest  moon 
with  one  you  love?  The  paddle's  blade  part- 
ing the  bosom  of  the  dark  water  seems  a 
mysterious  agency,  so  silent  and  swift  is  the 
motion  of  the  tiny  craft,  gliding  along  the 
shores  of  the  wooded  islands,  vast  patches  of 
shadow  upon  a  silver  sea.  Now  and  again 
the  ripple  of  voices  stealing  over  the  dis- 
tance tells  of  other  spirits  partaking  of  a 
kindred  happiness,  and  the  tinkling  melody 
of  an  occasional  stringed  instrument  charms 
the  ear.  The  drops  glisten  like  jewels  upon 
the  trailing  fingers  of  the  sweet  voyager  re- 
clining in  the  bow,  with  face  upturned  to  the 
serenity  of  the  heavens,  where  Luna  climbs 
through  diaphanous  flint-blue  clouds  or  rides 
at  last  in  untroubled  splendor. 

We  spoke  but  little.  Intuition  warns  the  in- 
telligent soul  that  silence  is  at  times  the  most 
agreeable  companionship.  Miss  Corcoran  held 
across  her  lap  her  dainty  banjo,  and  once  or 
twice  a  note  of  plaintive  soliloquy  fell  upon  the 
stillness. 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  9 1 

"  Sing,  please,"  I  murmured. 

"  Ah,  no  !  I  cannot.  It  is  too  lovely." 
X  We  shot  out  farther  to  seaward,  where  the 
yachts  lay  at  anchor,  like  bats  of  huge  and  gro- 
tesque proportions.  A  breeze  from  the  deep 
ruffled  the  surface  and  caused  the  skiff  to  sway 
with  gentle  undulations.  A  few  sweeps  of  the 
paddle  carried  us  under  the  lee  of  an  island, 
and  again  we  were  at  rest  upon  a  tranquil,  glit- 
tering flood. 

"Is  it  not  exquisite?"  she  whispered,  as  it 
were,  breathless  with  the  intensity  of  her  emo- 
tions. "  See  what  a  broad  track  the  moon 
makes.  It  seems  almost  as  though  it  were  a 
golden  path  that  led  to  heaven." 

"  I  once  wrote  a  poem  on  that  subject,  Miss 
Corcoran." 

" Did  you?     Oh,  please  recite  it  to  me  ! " 

"  I  fear  I  cannot  remember  it.  Let  me 
see.  Perhaps  I  can  recall  the  prelude."  I 
was  silent  a  moment,  and  then,  in  the  im- 
pressive, clear  tone  which  is  at  my  disposal, 
began   as   follows ;  — 


92  -THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

«<>Twas  a  night  of  which  the  glory 

Would  have  thrilled  the  meanest  soul,  — 

If  e'er  shadows  of  the  night, 

Mellowed  by  that  tender  light, 

Have  the  power  to  distil 

From  a  heart  which  love  conceals, 

Struggling  with  its  own  sweet  will, 

All  the  latent  joy  it  feels  ; 

Or  a  heart  of  stone  impress 

With  a  melting  tenderness. 

"  '  Sparkling  in  the  midnight  splendor, 
Close  beside  the  cliff-girt  shore 
Lay  a  little  rocky  isle 
Wooing  all  the  stars  to  smile. 
And  the  moon  to  kiss,  which,  setting 
O'er  a  silent  glassy  sea. 
Charmed  the  fishers  to  forgetting 
Life's  austere  reality. 
In  their  huts  on  shore  asleep, 
Just  where  ocean  could  not  creep.'  " 

"  Oh,  do  go  on ! "  she  cried,  as  I  paused  at  the 
completion  of  this  stanza.     "  It  is  beautiful !  " 

I  replied  that  I  had  forgotten  the  precise 
language  of  the  rest. 

"  Besides,  the  poem  is  too  long  to  repeat.  It 
is  the  story  of  a  fisher-maiden  whom  her  affi- 
anced lover  had  forsaken.     She  was  in  the  habit 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  93 

of  rowing  out  from  the  mainland  to  the  island, 

whence  she  would  gaze  out  to  sea  with  the  hope 

of,  catching   a   glimpse   of    his    returning   sail. 

Somebody  had  told  her,  too,  that  the  souls  of 

faithless  lovers  inhabit  the  moon,  and  it  came 

into  her  mind  that  by  following  the  glittering 

wake  she  would  at  last  greet  her  sailor-lad  once 

more. 

"  '  Fastened  by  a  rope  that  gleamed 
Like  a  braided  silver  strand. 
Her  slight  skiff  lay  all  at  rest 
On  the  tranquil  ocean's  breast. 
The  wide  heaven  seemed  to  glisten, 
Touched  by  her  grief  uncontrolled  ; 
Every  star  stooped  down  to  hsten 
To  the  tale  the  maiden  told  ; 
While  the  pitying  Pleiad's  creeping 
Up  night's  vault  wept  golden  weeping.'  " 

"  How  touching,  Mr.  Lattimer  !  " 
"  She  apostrophizes  the   moon  and  asks  the 
golden  planets'  protection :  — 

" '  Take  me,  take  me,  precious  light, 
To  thy  mystic,  jewelled  cave 
"  Down  through  the  still  ocean  floor, 
And  I  '11  be  thy  trusty  slave 
In  the  deep  for  evermore.' " 


94  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

"  It  is  very  poetical,"  said  the  sweet,  yearning 
voice  of  Miss  Corcoran. 

"  In  the  next  verse  she  explains  her  hope," 
said  I. 

" '  Those  who  their  true  vows  have  broken 
In  thine  orb  are  said  to  dwell. 
When  the  fates  his  life-threads  sever, 
And  my  lover  sleeps  forever, 
Haply  I  shall  find  him  there  ; 
Banish  his  repentant  tears, 
Win  his  pardon  by  a  prayer, 
Or  remorse  of  future  years 
Calm  by  love  so  deep.     Sweet  light, 
Let  me  go  with  thee  to-night. 

•*  *  From  the  barren  rock  uprising, 
To  her  feet  the  skiff  she  drew. 
The  rough  oars  she  deftly  plied, 
And  her  bark  flew  o'er  the  tide, 
Bearing  her  far  from  the  shore 
Of  her  childhood's  misery. 
Until  it  seemed  nothing  more 
On  the  wide  illumined  sea 
Than  a  speck  of  cloud  or  mist 
By  both  sky  and  ocean  kissed.'  " 

"  And  what    became    of  the    poor    child  ? " 
asked  my  companion,  for  I  was  silent  now. 
"  She  was  never  heard  of  again.     Neither  she 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  95 

nor  the  boat  was  ever  found.  There  is  a  legend, 
though,  among  the  fishermen  of  the  place  that 
on  calm  summer  nights, 

"  '  When  the  stars  in  countless  cluster 
Peep  from  heaven,  and  the  lustre 
Of  the  moon  is  at  its  prime, 
A  pale  maiden  museth  still, 
Just  as  in  the  olden  time. 
On  the  isle,  and  seems  to  fill 
Night  with  peace  ;  and  well  they  know 
In  her  hour  no  storm  will  blow.'  " 

"What  a  truly  exquisite  poem.  Why  have 
you  never  published  it?" 

"  I  sent  it  to  the  editor  of  a  magazine  once, 
and  it  was  returned.  In  my  mortification  I  cast 
the  manuscript  into  the  fire.  What  I  have  re- 
cited to  you  is  from  memory." 

"  It  seems  to  me  very  beautiful.  I  have,"  she 
observed,  in  a  tone  of  exquisite  modesty,  "  writ- 
ten verses  occasionally  myself." 

"  Ah,  pray  give  me  the  felicity  of  listening  to 
some  of  them." 

"  Not  to-night.  They  would  sound  vapid 
after  yours.     Some  other  time,"  she  continued, 


96  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

perceiving  the  importunity  of  my  manner.  "  Pad- 
dle a  little,  Mr.  Lattimer.  I  think  we  are  drift- 
ing too  far  from  home." 

By  a  few  turns  of  my  sinewy  wrist  I  sent  the 
canoe  flying  in  the  direction  she  desired.  She 
was  silent  for  some  minutes,  lost  apparently  in 
the  plenitude  of  her  fancy. 

"  What,  Mr.  Lattimer,"  she  asked  at  length, 
"  is  your  definition  of  love?  " 

I  answered  with  my  customary  ready  perti- 
nency :  "  Love  is  the  silent  sympathy  which 
vibrates  from  soul  to  soul." 

"What  a  charming  description!"  she  mur- 
mured; "that  is  just  what  it  is,  —  silent.  I  cannot 
endure  the  conception  of  love  that  delights  in 
noise.  True  love  seems  to  me  in  its  essence  a 
dreamy  passion,  a  holding  of  hands  in  the  dark- 
ness, so  to  speak,  —  a  sitting  side  by  side  with  a 
finger  on  the  lips.  Do  you  understand  what  I 
mean,  Mr.  Lattimer,  or  is  my  interpretation  too 
vague?" 

"  No,  no !  "  I  cried,  "  your  language  is  deli- 
cious.     Would   that  there   were   more  in   the 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  9/ 

world  who  feel  as  you  do.  We  live  in  a  literal 
age,  and  life  is  shorn  of  genuine  poetry.  All, 
all  are  gone,  —  the  ghosts  and  fairies,  the  hob- 
goblins and  elves,  the  sprites  and  witches,  — 
even  the  devil  himself." 

"  Yes;  and  where,  too,  are  the  bards  and  min- 
strels, the  troubadours  and  tourneys,  and  the 
gallant  knights,  who,  for  the  love  of  their  gentle 
ladies,  slew  the  dragons  who  belched  forth  fire 
from  their  brazen  throats  ?  " 

"  Gone  too ;  and  with  them  the  silken  lad- 
ders and  stolen  kisses,  the  precious  locks  of 
hair  and  secret  billets,  —  even  the  cruel  parent, 
and  chaise-and-four  to  Dover.  Not  one  is  left. 
Love's  cottage,  that  nightmare  of  ambitious 
mothers,  is  marked  *  To  let,'  and  I  hear  an 
enterprising  speculator  is  going  to  pull  it  down 
and  build  an  apartment-house,  with  all  the 
modern  improvements,  on  the  site.  In  their 
stead  we  have  the  reporter  and  the  photog- 
rapher and  the  manager,  to  show  us  life  as 
it  really  is.  But  yet,"  I  added,  in  a  tone  of 
quiet  pathos,  "  there  are  ever  a  faithful  few  to 


98  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

bewail  the  degeneracy  of  the  many,  ever  a  heart 
here  and  there  where  the  sacred  fire  burns  with 
the  heat  of  the  ages." 

Her  response  was  a  sigh  so  exquisitely  melo- 
dious that  the  paddle  stood  idle  in  my  hand. 
She  touched  the  strings  of  her  banjo,  and  as 
once  more  I  urged  the  skiff  over  the  water, 
these  were  the  words  she  sang,  —  words  that  I 
have  never  heard  before  nor  have  heard  since, 
but  the  memory  of  which  fills  my  heart  even 
to-day  with  a  thrill  of  joy  that  is  half  pain:  — 

"  A  maiden  stood  on  a  dreary  ledge 

And  gazed  at  a  foaming  sea; 
Her  eyes  were  brown  as  the  slippery  sedge 

Which  the  wild  waves  tossed  in  their  glee. 
Her  eyes  were  brown,  but  were  moist  with  grief, 

And  she  moaned  to  the  billowy  brine,  — 
'  The  life  of  my  true  love  is  thine,  cruel  thief, 

And  naught  do  I  care  for  mine  ! 
The  life  of  my  true  love  is  thine,  c-r-r-u-el  th-i-e-f, 

And  n-a-u-ght  do  I  c-a-a-re  for  mine  ! ' 

"  The  sea,  with  the  growl  of  an  angry  bear, 
Swept  over  the  dreary  ledge. 
And  mingled  the  brown  of  the  maiden's  hair 
With  the  brown  of  the  slippery  sedge; 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  99 

But  a  woman's  voice  that  rejoiced  in  its  grief 

Outsped  the  roar  of  the  brine,  — 
'  The  hfe  of  my  true  love  is  thine,  cruel  thief, 

And  naught  do  I  care  for  mine  ! 
The  hfe  of  my  true  love  is  thine,  c-r-r-u-el  th-i-e-f, 

And  n-a-u-ght  do  I  c-a-a-re  for  mine  ! '  " 

"  Ah,"  I  exclaimed,  as  the  last  note  of  her 
sweet  voice  died  away  on  the  night  air,  "  what 
a  delicious  thing !  so  spirited  and  yet  so  weird 
and  suggestive  !  Not  a  word  wasted  !  Where 
did  you  obtain  it?" 

"  It  was  written  by  a  friend  of  mine,"  she 
replied,  with  a  modesty  as  delectable  as  her 
dreamy  tone. 

"  I  can  see  the  whole  scene,"  said  I.  "  It 
stands  out  vividly  before  me,  —  the  desolate, 
wind-blown  ledge,  the  wan  maiden  with  dishev- 
elled hair,  and  eyes  salt  with  tears.  The  huge 
waves  come  tumbling  in  and  sweep  her  from 
her  foothold,  and  tangle  her  tresses  with  the 
fronds  of  the  treacherous  sea-weed.  Then, 
when  it  seems  as  if  the  pitiless  destroyer  had 
triumphed,  a  beautiful  white  arm  rises  for  an 
instant  above  the  foam  of  the  surges,  and  a  cry 


I(X)  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

of  despair,  which  is  exultation,  outvies  the  roar 
of  the  tempest !  " 

She  thanked  me  for  my  appreciation  of  her 
song,  and  thenceforward  we  were  almost  silent. 
With  a  due  and  delicate  perception  that  the 
point  had  been  reached  in  the  interchange  of 
sympathy  where  reaction  is  liable  to  occur,  or 
at  least  where  there  is  no  likelihood  of  a  stricter 
tension  of  the  cords  of  feeling,  I  now  turned 
the  canoe's  head  toward  shore,  and  we  were 
landed  just  as  the  steel-blue  clouds,  grown 
more  dense  and  cumbrous,  threatened  to  con- 
ceal the  visage  of  the  moon.  We  parted  at 
the  foot  of  the  stairs  leading  to  her  apartment 
without  words,  but  interchanging  that  cordial 
pressure  of  the  hand  which  tells  of  emotions 
which  language  seldom  formulates  except  to 
mar. 

Next  morning,  after  breakfast,  we  were  tin- 
typed,  and,  since  the  previous  day's  experience 
had  given  me  assurance,  I  permitted  the  Pro- 
fessor, whose  eloquent  look  of  reproach  went 
to  my  heart,  to  become  the  third  figure  in  our 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  lOI 

final  sitting.  As  we  posed  at  Miss  Corcoran's 
feet,  upon  either  side,  our  fair  companion  found 
some  difficulty  in  assuming  an  attitude  that 
promised  to  be  both  appropriate  and  effective. 
It  was  at  the  height  of  her  uncertainty  that  the 
Professor  observed,  with  his  well-known  air  of 
jocose  yet  genuine  gallantry, — 

"  II  faut  sonffrir  pour  etre  belle y 

"  Say,  rather,"  I  exclaimed  upon  the  instant, 
glancing  respectfully  but  with  sentiment  in  the 
direction  of  my  idxt protege'e,  —  "say,  rather,  il 
faut  etre  belle  pour  soiijfrir ;  for  who  truly  can 
suffer  so  keenly  as  she  who  sees  mankind  in 
hopeless  adoration  at  her  feet?  Even  their 
misery  is  less  poignant  than  the  harrowing  pity 
which  scalds  her  tender  bosom." 

A  sad  but  beautiful  smile  was  the  reward  of 
my  gentlemanly  antithesis  to  the  Professor's  flip- 
pancy ;  and  I  think  that  he  must  himself  have 
perceived  the  futility  of  his  efforts,  for  erelong 
he  pleaded  an  engagement,  and  left  Miss  Cor- 
coran and  me  once  more  alone. 

It  boots  not  to  dwell  with  prolixity  on   the 


102  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

events  of  the  ensuing  four  weeks,  which,  how- 
ever teeming  with  variety  for  the  parties  imme- 
diately concerned,  would  haply  strike  the  casual 
reader  as  monotonous. 

We  sought  not  the  approbation  of  observers 
at  the  time,  but,  careless  of  invidious  comments, 
found  an  ample  happiness  in  the  unreserved 
companionship  of  each  other.  It  was  our  wont 
to  sally  forth  upon  expeditions  calculated  to 
consume  the  larger  portion  of  the  day,  and  the 
star  of  twilight  would  often  be  our  guide  upon 
the  homeward  path.  We  climbed  to  the  top  of 
the  neighboring  mountains  and  made  explora- 
tions of  the  bold,  impressive  coast,  pausing  at 
mid-day  beneath  the  protection  of  some  natural 
shelter,  to  share  the  cold  chicken  and  dough- 
nuts which  we  conveyed  ^  for  luncheon  from  the 
hotel.  Then,  stretched  at  ease  upon  a  grassy 
bank  or  along  some  smooth  ledge,  we  whiled 
away   the    hours   in   the    discussion   of  a  wide 

1  "  '  Convey,'  the  wise  call  it.  *  Steal ! '  A  fico  for 
the  phrase." — The  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  Act  I. 
scene  3. 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  103 

range  of  topics,  until  warned  by  the  sloping 
shadows  of  the  approach  of  evening.  I  have 
reason  to  believe  that  May  made  me  the  con- 
fidant of  every  circumstance  in  her  sweet  life, 
and  I  in  turn  told  her  those  thoughts  and  facts 
regarding  myself  which  I  intrust  only  to  those 
whose  personality  is,  as  it  were,  a  portion  of  my 
being.  In  the  course  of  our  reflections  upon 
the  nature  of  love,  she  gave  me  to  understand 
that  the  first  bloom  of  her  heart  had  been 
bestowed  upon  one  who  proved  faithless.  The 
breaking  of  her  engagement,  though  her  own 
deed  at  the  last,  had  been  consequent  upon  the 
cruel  neglect  of  him  in  whom  she  had  put  a 
trust  which  was  without  limit.  The  searing 
marks  of  this  sorrow  still  burned  in  silent 
hours,  and  those  who  knew  her  best  declared 
her  much  altered  in  appearance.  Never  until 
the  present  summer  had  she  felt  any  return  of 
her  old-time  vivacity. 

All  this  she  told  me  one  afternoon,  just  at 
dusk,  under  the  influence  of  a  young  moon 
streaking  the  pale  sky.     We  were  sitting  close 


104  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

to  the  water,  and  after  the  free,  untrammelled 
methods  common  to  us  at  such  times,  she  had 
borrowed  my  white  flannel  skull-cap,  that  her 
head  might  rest  more  comfortably  against  the 
bowlder ;  while  I  in  turn  was  adorning  hers  with 
a  coronal  of  sea-mosses  gathered  from  the 
beach. 

It  is  a  strange  but  melancholy  truth,  we  are 
not  always  masters  of  our  thoughts  at  moments 
when  they  should  be  of  the  most  disinterested 
character.  Deep  as  was  my  sympathy  for  the 
sufferings  undergone  by  this  gentle  soul,  I  could 
not  abstain  froni  recalling  my  own  reflections 
the  night  before,  when,  under  the  sway  of  an 
analytic  mood,  I  had  taken  out  and  scrutinized 
with  care  the  composition  heart  that  once  be- 
longed to  Aunt  Selina.  With  all  the  wealth  of 
sentiment  I  entertained  for  May  Corcoran,  was 
not  I,  too,  among  those  whose  affections  no 
longer  wear  the  beautiful  guise  that  is  the  beni- 
son  of  inexperience?  I,  too,  could  no  longer 
offer  to  another  the  first  and  most  exquisite 
bloom  of  my  love.     I  still  worshipped,  —  wor- 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  105 

shipped  indeed  with  a  passion  which  was  perhaps 
more  discriminating  and  intelligent  than  that  of 
former  days ;  but  yet  the  lurking  consciousness 
was  mine  of  a  certain  impoverishment,  as  though 
a  thief  had  invaded  the  sanctuary  of  my  bosom 
during  the  still  hours  of  night  and  stolen  some 
precious  jewel.  I  had  for  an  instant  the  previous 
evening  caught  a  glimpse  of  this  bitter  truth, 
which  now  again  passed  through  the  chamber 
of  my  brain  with  the  stealthy  stride  of  a  spectre. 
No  sooner  had  it  vanished  than  the  torrent  of 
my  love  flowed  once  more  with  impetuosity 
through  my  breast ;  but  some  subtle  power  had 
tinged  its  waters  with  an  icy  coldness  that  almost 
against  my  will  tempered  the  ardor  of  my  sub- 
sequent words.  It  is  to  them  that  I  must  refer 
for  the  elucidation  of  the  scene  that  ensued. 

"  Miss  May,"  said  I,  for  she  had  finished  her 
narration,  and  sat  looking  out  over  the  sea  with 
a  pitiful,  suffering  gaze,  "the  first  time  I  saw  you 
I  was  convinced  that  you  had  been  the  victim 
of  a  subversive  sorrow.  Even  then,"  I  added, 
"  my  deep  sympathy,  which  brims  over  to-day 


I06  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

at  the  mention  of  your  grief,  was  awakened; 
for  not  only  did  the  indescribable  affinity  exist- 
ing between  your  soul  and  my  soul  —  an  affinity 
that  I  think  you  will  not  disclaim  after  the  inti- 
macy of  these  weeks  —  reveal  to  me  your  secret, 
but  also  because  I  myself  am  not  wholly  a 
stranger  to  such  an  experience  as  you  have 
described," 

"Ah,"  she  replied,  with  a  glance  of  tender 
interest,  "  it  pains  me  to  hear  it,  for  a  heart  so 
warm  and  trusting  as  yours  must  have  been 
sorely  smitten." 

"  You  must  not  mistake  my  meaning,"  said 
I,  quietly.  "  Mine  is  not  an  instance  where 
the  deliberate  faithlessness  of  one  in  whom  I 
had  trusted  caused  a  wound.  There  are,  per- 
chance, those  who  would  lay  at  my  own  door 
the  source  of  my  sorrow.  In  short,  the  enthu- 
siastic blindness  of  youth  led  me  at  one  time  to 
pour  out  my  heart's  fresh  passion  at  the  feet  of 
one  who,  though  beautiful  in  person,  proved  to 
lack  those  requisites  which  I  yearned  to  en- 
counter in  that  spirit  in  whose  companionship 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  107 

my  every  aspiration  would  find  content.  Would 
to  Heaven,  Miss  May,  you  and  I  had  met  before 
the  fell  stroke  of  destiny  mildewed  the  blossom 
of  both  our  loves." 

I  was  silent,  and  with  mechanical  gesture 
tossed  now  and  again  in  the  air  Aunt  Selina's 
composition  heart,  which  I  had  taken  from  my 
pocket.  My  companion  still  gazed  seaward 
with  an  aspect  where  intensity  had  begun  to  set 
its  seal  in  contradistinction  to  the  hopelessness 
of  her  recent  expression. 

I  balanced  the  bauble  upon  my  open  palm 
and  surveyed  it  pensively.  Upon  her  asking 
what  I  was  examining  with  so  much  interest, 
I  made  no  response  for  an  instant,  and  then 
with  a  quiet  sigh  placed  the  treasure  in  her 
hand.  My  eyes  at  this  moment  met  hers,  and 
reading  therein  a  secret,  which  yet  had  not 
been  a  secret  to  me  for  many  days,  I  would 
fain  have  knelt  upon  the  bare  rock  and  asked 
leave  to  hold  forever  the  white  taper  fingers 
which  brushed  against  mine.  But  a  subtle 
power   restrained    and   prompted  words  which 


I08  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

fell  far  short  in  meaning  of  the  phrases  I  should 
otherwise  have  employed. 

"  That  is  merely  a  keepsake  which  I  happen 
to  have  discovered  in  my  pocket,  but  which 
seems  to  me  symbolic  of  our  mutual  condition. 
A  glance  will  show  you  the  device  is  that  of  a 
human  heart,  —  a  heart  which  bears  upon  its 
surface  the  imprint  of  suffering,  the  maceration 
of  bitter  experience.  See,"  I  added,  bending  to- 
ward her  with  an  air  of  tenderness,  "  where  the 
knife  has  sliced  its  way  through  the  blue  veins, 
leavin?  the  flesh  sore  to  the  most  trivial  touch." 

"  Yes,"  she  answered ;  "  it  is,  indeed,  an  elo- 
quent commentary  on  the  misery  of  life.  But," 
and  here  she  turned  and  looked  at  me  with 
gentle  yearning,  "  the  kind  sympathy  of  friends 
does  much  to  alleviate  and  poultice  the  most 
sensitive  wound." 

"Ah !"  I  exclaimed,  "  it  gives  me  an  unutter- 
able joy  to  hear  from  your  own  lips  that  my 
efforts  at  consolation  have  not  been  completely 
in  vain.  Yes,  Miss  Corcoran,  I  think  I  may 
claim,  without  incurring  the  imputation  of  too 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  109 

great  assurance,  that  my  sympathy  of  the  past 
few  weeks  has  contributed  largely  to  lessen  the 
desolation  under  which  your  spirit  labored 
when  first  we  met.  Not,"  I  added,  with  em- 
phasis, "  that  the  wound  has  wholly  healed, 
for  so  complete  a  result  we  must  leave,  my 
dear  young  lady,  to  time,  the  great  physician ; 
but  still,  I  believe  that  our  mutual  influence 
has  been  to  invigorate  the  weary  soul  of  one 
another,  rather  than  foster  the  growth  of  a 
pent-up  grief." 

"  Indeed  it  has,"  she  murmured ;  and  her 
eyes  fell  diffidently,  as  though  unable  to  bear 
the  penetrating  gaze  of  mine.  Had  I  obeyed 
the  momentary  instincts  of  my  bosom,  I 
should  have  clasped  her  in  my  arms  then  and 
there. 

"  I  even  believe,"  I  went  on  to  say,  "  that  the 
time  is  not  far  distant  when,  alike  to  your  heart 
and  mine,  will  return  the  pristine  joy  of  the 
days  which  were  before  we  knew  what  it  was 
to  have  loved,  —  a  joy  wearing  not  perhaps  the 
fleckless  bloom  of  unsophisticated   youth,  but 


no  THE  KNAVE  OF  HEARTS. 

rather  the  serene  front  of  happiness  tempered 
and  refined  in  the  furnace  of  adversity.  But 
however  that  may  be,  —  and  who  indeed  can 
say  what  fate  has  in  store  for  any  one  of  us?  — 
the  memories  of  this  summer's  experience  will 
be  a  source  of  sweet  reminiscence  to  both  you 
and  me.  Let  me  at  least  declare,  upon  my  own 
behalf,  that  I  recognize  in  you  a  being  far 
removed  above  the  ordinary  plane  of  humanity, 
—  a  woman  whose  pure  and  ennobling  estimates 
of  life's  meaning  will  be  precious  companions 
to  me  during  the  remainder  of  my  existence. 
I  have  made  a  friend  whose  constancy  I  can 
never  call  in  question,  and  whose  nature  is  in 
exquisite  sympathy  with  my  own.  To  say  that 
I  regret  being  obliged  to  leave  Bar  Harbor 
to-morrow  would  convey  but  a  faint  expression 
of  my  feelings.  I  deplore  the  necessity  which 
calls  me  away,  and  thereby  sunders  the  de- 
lightful relations  of  the  past  month.  It  is 
another  instance  of  the  rigor  of  those  laws  to 
which  all  mortal  life  is  amenable." 

"What!"  she  said,  as  I  became  silent,  "going 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  Ill 

to-morrow?  I  am  indeed  grieved  to  hear  it." 
She  paused  an  instant,  and  then  continued 
quietly :  "  You  can  feel  assured  that  the  kind 
words  you  have  spoken  are  not  unappreciated, 
however  in  excess  of  the  truth  as  regards  my 
attributes.  The  friendship  to  which  you  refer 
will  be  very  precious  to  me,  and  "  — 

She  did  not  finish  her  sentence,  for  the  falter- 
ing of  her  voice  betrayed  the  intensity  of  her 
emotion.  In  a  chance  nervous  movement  of  her 
hand  the  heart  given  me  by  Aunt  Selina  fell 
upon  the  rock  and  was  broken.  Another  sec- 
tion was  divided  from  the  main  portion,  leaving 
only  a  complete  half  of  the  original  bauble. 
Stooping  down,  I  picked  up  the  debris,  assuring 
her  that  the  accident  was  of  but  trifling  impor- 
tance. Then  with  a  smile  of  quiet,  composed 
friendship  I  asked  her  to  accept  the  piece  as  a 
slight  token  of  my  regard. 

"It  is,"  I  added,  "of  insignificant  value  in 
itself,  but  may  serve  to  call  to  mind  pleasant 
memories,  if  I  may  be  so  bold  as  to  assume  that 
your  memories  of  me  will  be  agreeable." 


112  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

She  received  the  segment,  which  was  streaked 
with  the  line  of  a  blue  vein,  and  put  it  in  the 
little  reticule  at  her  waist.  She  did  not  speak, 
but  I  could  see  that  she  was  deeply  moved. 
So  in  truth  was  I,  and  for  many  minutes  sat 
motionless,  looking  out  over  the  dark  water, 
upon  which  the  mantle  of  evening  was  descend- 
ing. I  pitied  the  pale,  lovely  girl  with  all  my 
heart,  for  even  my  intuition  had  not  revealed 
the  depth  of  the  impression  which  I  had  made 
upon  her.  I  should  have  endeavored  to  say 
something  consolatory  had  it  not  been  for  the 
fear  lest  she  might  deem  such  words  more 
significant  than  their  real  purport.  I  merely 
observed  that  all  separations  were  painful  to 
bear,  and,  after  a  deep  sigh  or  two,  suggested 
the  advisability  of  turning  our  steps  homeward 
to  avoid  being  overtaken  by  the  darkness. 

•Early  the  next  morning  I  left  Bar  Harbor. 
The  Professor,  who  knew  all,  came  down  to 
the  wharf  to  see  me  off.  He  rallied  me  upon 
the  lowness  of  my  spirits. 

"  Cheer  up  !    I  have  had  similar  experiences," 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  II3 

he  said.     "  You  will  feel  all  right  in  a  few  days. 
It  is  hard,  but  a  necessary  step." 

I  shook  my  head  mournfully,  and  grasping 
his  hand  as  I  stood  on  the  edge  of  the  plank : 
"  Professor,"  I  murmured,  "  she  has  a  piece  of 
my  heart." 


IV. 


"  Mr.  Lattimer,  I  should  like  to  introduce 
you  to  Miss  Virginia  Langford." 

I  bowed  to  Mrs.  Bellingham  with  an  air  of 
well-bred  complaisance,  which,  while  expressing 
complete  readiness  to  make  the  acquaintance  of 
the  young  lady  in  question,  was  free  from  the 
eagerness  of  extreme  youth.  There  was  a  time 
when  such  a  proposition  would  have  brought 
the  blush  of  gratified  pride  to  my  cheeks ;  but 
I  was  no  longer  a  stripling.  With  the  accretion 
of  a  little  more  flesh,  —  though  not  enough  to 
prejudice  the  proportions  of  my  person,  —  a 
collected  dignity  had  become  manifest  in  my 
bearing.  It  required  now  much  to  throw  me 
off  my  balance.     I  was  not  easily  disturbed,  nor 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  II5 

did  I  give  way  to  enthusiasm  without  adequate 
cause. 

Mrs.  Bellingham,  at  whose  miisicale  I  was 
present,  conducted  me  through  the  exquisite 
suite  of  rooms  thrown  open  for  the  recep- 
tion of  her  guests.  As  my  eye  passed  along 
the  hne  of  handsome,  well-dressed  women,  who 
represented  adequately  the  fashion  of  the  city, 
I  could  perceive  that  my  finished  appear- 
ance excited  much  interest.  Whispers  as  to 
who  I  might  be  reached  my  ear,  and  the  half- 
coquettish  smile  which  rises  to  the  lip  of  beauty 
on  the  approach  of  a  man  of  consummate  chic 
was  not  infrequent.  I  was  a  stranger  in  Balti- 
more, and,  save  for  my  fascinating  hostess, 
had  no  acquaintance  of  moment. 

As  we  walked,  Mrs.  Bellingham  gave  me 
information,  in  her  sprightly  fashion,  concerning 
certain  of  her  visitors.  The  tall  girl  with  the 
exquisite  coloring  talking  to  Mr.  Nelson  was 
Miss  Ethel  Buell,  whose  father  was  treasurer  of 
the  prosperous  Patapsco  Manufacturing  Com- 
pany.     She  was   a   great    favorite.     That  was 


Il6  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

Miss  Rantoul  in  the  corner,  —  the  girl  with  the 
alabaster  skin  and  black  hair;  it  was  she  to 
whom  the  Prince  of  Wales  had  taken  such  a 
fancy  a  year  before. 

I  listened  to  her  comments  with  polite  in- 
terest, and  evinced  the  necessary  degree  of 
appreciation  at  each  recital.  With  my  wide 
experience  of  the  sex  I  was  not  to  be  easily 
captivated,  but  neither  was  I  a  captious  critic. 
Both  Miss  Buell  and  Miss  Rantoul  struck  me 
as  well-appearing  young  ladies,  with  either  of 
whom  one  might  pass  an  evening  and  find  alike 
enjoyment  and  a  theme  for  some  enthusiasm. 

"  I  want  yon,  though,  to  meet  Miss  Langford," 
said  my  hostess.  "  I  am  sure  you  will  think 
her  very  charming.  This  is  her  second  winter 
in  society,  but  practically  her  first,  for  poor, 
dear  Mrs.  Langford's  health  was  so  delicate  last 
year  that  she  carried  off  Virginia  to  the  South 
early  in  February.  She  has  lived  abroad  a 
great  deal,  and  has  quite  foreign  manners.  So 
elegant  and  high-bred !  Quite  in  contrast  to 
the   free-and-easy  style  one  sees   so   much    of 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  II7 

nowadays.  Don't  you  think  our  American  girls 
are  apt  to  be  a  little  too  informal  in  their  ways, 
Mr.  Lattimer?" 

"  It  is  a  great  fault  of  the  age,  Mrs.  Belling- 
ham,"  I  answered  gravely.  "  I  must  confess 
that  I  have  little  sympathy  with  that  school  of 
deportment  which  relies  on  a  lack  of  ceremony 
as  its  most  salient  charm." 

"  Ah,  there  she  is !  "  and  Mrs.  Bellingham 
turned  our  steps  towards  an  adjacent  sofa  upon 
which  a  young  lady  was  sitting  whose  demeanor 
suggested  to  me  a  princess,  so  replete  it  was 
with  proud  dignity. 

The  admirers,  three  in  number,  who  were  in 
attendance,  stood  aside  at  our  approach,  and 
Miss  Langford  herself  arose  to  greet  the  elder 
lady. 

"  Virginia,  my  dear,  allow  me  to  present  to 
you  Mr.  Arthur  Lattimer.  Mr.  Lattimer  is 
from  Boston." 

I  bowed  with  the  air  of  careful  gallantry, 
where  respect  goes  hand  in  hand  with  a  silent 
avowal  of  fascination. 


Il8  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

"  Miss  Langford,  I  think  that  you  know  Miss 
Delano?" 

'*  Ah,  yes ;  she  is  one  of  my  best  friends. 
Are  you  a  friend  of  hers,  Mr.  Lattimer?  " 

"  I  flatter  myself  that  I  am  to  be  considered 
in  that  category." 

Thus  by  a  single  phrase  I  had  placed  my- 
self in  complete  sympathy  with  this  exquisite 
creature ;  for  Miss  Delano  was,  though  not  of 
prepossessing  appearance,  one  of  the  most  fash- 
ionable and  wealthy  girls  in  my  native  city.  I 
was,  indeed,  upon  terms  of  intimacy  with  her, 
or  I  should  not  have  ventured  the  assertion,  for 
breeding  such  as  that  with  which  I  now  found 
myself  face  to  face  would  easily  have  seen 
through  the  gauze  of  imposture.  Nothing  is  so 
difficult  to  simulate  as  the  methods  of  cultivated 
people. 

This  girl  had  a  stately  and  commanding  pres- 
ence. She  stood  erect,  with  her  head  thrown 
slightly  back,  revealing  in  their  full,  dazzling 
whiteness  the  swan-like  neck  and  plump  but 
symmetrical  shoulders  which  were  among  her 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  II9 

claims  to  pre-eminent  beauty.  Her  eyes  were 
of  that  pale-violet  shade  which,  when  other 
attributes  are  not  incongruous,  give  to  their 
possessor  the  mild  but  aristocratic  aspect  of 
the  mountain  deer.  Every  movement  was  dis- 
tinguished for  its  grace,  and  every  word  she 
uttered  was  delightfully  modulated,  as  though  a 
harmony  of  refinement  prevailed  betwixt  her 
body  and  soul. 

I  found  myself  silently  according  to  Miss 
Langford  that  genuine  applause  which  is  the 
outcome  of  comparison.  Her  elegance  put 
memory  to  the  blush,  so  that  I  wondered  how 
I  could  have  become  enraptured  with  others 
while  so  exquisite  a  being  drew  breath.  This 
was  no  haphazard,  boyish  impulse  of  infatu- 
ation, but  the  mature  deduction  of  manhood, 
with  experience  as  a  mentor. 

I  think  that  she  almost  instantly  conceded 
something  of  the  same  excellence  to  me. 
Though  young  in  years,  she  had  indisputably 
seen  much  of  life,  or,  more  accurately  speak- 
ing, of  mankind,  and  could  at  a  glance  distin- 


I20  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

guish  the  complete  cavalier  from  the  mere  tyro 
or  consequential  nobody.  After  some  general 
conversation,  by  a  few  words,  the  tact  of  which 
was  admirable,  she  dismissed  the  youths  in 
attendance  and  composed  herself  on  the  sofa 
for  a  quiet  chat  with  me.  She  did  not  deem 
it  necessary  to  seek  the  seclusion  of  the  stair- 
case or  an  ante-room  in  order  to  satisfy  her 
vanity,  nor  did  I  for  a  moment  think  of  sug- 
gesting a  proceeding  that  would  not  have  failed 
to  appear  to  her  indecorous.  VVe  both  were 
amply  able  to  converse  without  the  aid  of  co- 
quettish devices,  and  the  slight  haughtiness 
which,  as  it  were,  fringed  her  manners  struck  me 
as  a  grace. 

Before  going  to  bed  that  night  I  put  down 
the  name  of  Virginia  Langford  as  number  six 
in  my  calendar  of  fair  women.  Suffice  it  for 
the  present  to  state  that  since  taking  leave  of 
May  Corcoran  at  Bar  Harbor  I  had  been  on 
terms  of  intimacy  with  three  other  charming 
girls,  to  each  of  whom  I  had  given  a  piece  of 
my  heart  at  parting.     Three  years  had  passed 


THE  KNAVE  OF  HEARTS.  121 

since  Aunt  Selina  vouchsafed  me  the  interview 
which  had  colored  the  current  of  my  existence, 
and  I  was  still  faithful  to  the  estimate  the  old 
lady  formed  of  my  character.  Many  an  hour 
since  then  I  had  felt  a  thrill  of  self-congratu- 
lation at  the  thought  that  I  had  not  thrown 
myself  away  prematurely.  A  wedded  life  with 
one  like  Blanche  Lombard  would  have  checked 
the  development  of  those  intellectual  and  social 
charms  of  which  I  now  appreciated  the  value, 
and  never  more  than  at  this  time,  when  I  found 
myself  at  the  feet  of  a  woman  who  would  be 
quick  to  recognize  their  existence. 

No.  6.  Virginia  Langford. 
Residence,  Baltimore. 
Elegant,  accomplished,  statuesque. 
Black  hair ;  a  light  coloring ;  violet  eyes. 

MEMORANDA. 

"  The  expectancy  and  rose  of  the  fair  state. 
The  glass  of  fashion  and  the  mould  of  form." 

For  the  benefit  of  those  unfamiliar  with  the 
method   of  the   courtship   of  a  woman   of  so 


122  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

queenly  a  type,  let  me  state  that,  with  all  my 
experience  and  might  of  fascination,  any  hope 
I  may  have  cherished  of  carrying  her  heart 
by  storm  speedily  subsided.  She  regarded 
homage  in  the  light  of  a  perquisite,  and  un- 
disguised admiration  affected  her  for  the  most 
part  less  than  the  onset  of  the  raging  sea,  the 
impassive  shore.  Her  power  of  attraction  was 
like  the  baleful  effulgence  of  a  beacon  light, 
against  the  glass  windows  of  which  the  bewil- 
dered birds  dash  themselves  amid  the  storm's 
fury  and  drop  dead.  I  know  that  such  a 
thought  came  to  me  as  I  watched  the  candi- 
dates for  her  smiles  succeed  each  other. 

I  saw  clearly  that  the  path  to  influence  with 
her  was  one  from  which  all  but  the  most  dis- 
cerning and  skilful  lover  would  be  sure  to 
wander.  There  was  a  long,  narrow  stretch 
of  uneventful  country  to  be  trodden,  where, 
however,  a  single  false  step  would  induce  de- 
struction. It  was  needful  to  satisfy  her  vigi- 
lant sense  of  good  taste  and  refinement,  and 
interest  her  intelligence,  before  any  suggestion 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  1 23 

of  sentiment  on  my  part  would  be  capable  of 
awakening  aught  but  pity  in  her  bosom. 

I  sat  beside  her  at  dinner  the  evening  fol- 
lowing Mrs.  Bellingham's  entertainment.  There 
are  some  young  ladies  whom  it  would  flatter 
to  have  been  addressed  as  "  Miss  Virginia," 
but  I  took  care  to  call  my  neighbor  "  Miss 
Langford,"  feeling  that  her  delicacy  would 
shrink  from  what  seems  to  me  a  piece  of  un- 
necessary familiarity.  May  Corcoran  I  had  al- 
most invariably  accosted  as  "  Miss  May,"  from 
a  consciousness  that  the  simple  use  of  her  cog- 
nomen would  have  appeared  to  her  to  smack  of 
a  formality  that  did  not  exist  between  us. 

After  an  interchange  of  those  insipidities 
which  are  the  liveried  forerunners  of  polite 
conversation,  we  touched  upon  a  topic  which 
brought  the  soul's  fire  to  her  eyes,  —  the 
world  -  famed  debate  between  Webster  and 
Hayne.  Her  sympathies  were  those  of  a 
Southern  aristocrat,  and  in  her  efforts  to  prove 
the  superiority  of  the  arguments  used  by  the 
champion   of  States'    rights   she  fairly  became 


124  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

roused.  In  her  excitement  the  tears  for  an 
instant  ghttered  in  her  eyes,  and  I  crumbled 
my  bread  with  the  complacency  of  one  who 
has  produced  an  impression. 

Without  too  marked  an  egotism,  I  gave  her 
to  understand  that  it  was  my  ambition  to  make 
a  name  for  myself,  while  contributing  to  the 
world's  advancement,  and  in  a  few  epigram- 
matic sentences  I  disclosed  to  her  the  pith  of 
my  philosophy  and  the  themes  in  which  I  felt 
the  keenest  interest,  and  I  was  not  surprised 
to  find  her  tastes  and  views  somewhat  akin  to 
my  own,  though  less  advanced,  as  was  befitting 
one  of  her  sex. 

"  Miss  Langford,"  I  said,  in  continuation  of 
some  observations  on  feminine  education,  "  my 
opinions  on  this  subject  are  of  a  decided  char- 
acter. My  reverence  and  admiration  for  all  that 
is  embraced  under  that  sweet  word  *  woman '  — 
and  in  especial  when  I  think  of  the  vast  and 
wonderful  influence  she  has  upon  the  creature 
man  —  is  such  that  I  cannot  but  deprecate  the 
errors  of  a  training  which  seeks  to  reduce  her 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  1 25 

to  the  status  of  a  mere  puppet,  —  a  conventional 
doll.  I  am  one  who  believes  that  the  advance- 
ment of  the  human  race  is  contingent,  to  a  vital 
degree,  on  the  character  of  her  future  discipline. 
The  elevation  of  the  sex  to  which  I  belong  is  a 
work  meet  and  possible  for  her  performance; 
htut  provided,  however,  that  her  intelligence  can 
be  brought  into  a  more  intimate  affinity  with 
those  exquisite  sympathies  which  are  the  main- 
spring of  her  being.  Let  reason  walk  hand  in 
hand  with  aspiration,  and  her  triumph  is  secure. 
Give  to  a  due  understanding  of  the  laws  of  hy- 
giene a  portion  of  the  prominence  bestowed 
upon  the  hymnal,  and  the  friends  of  progress 
will  have  occasion  to  rejoice." 

I  paused,  and,  glancing  down  at  my  plate, 
impaled  on  my  fork  with  pensive  precision  some 
of  the  peas  which  embellished  \.\\q  filet  de  bceuf. 

"  Really,  Mr.  Lattimer."  She  spoke  in  the 
tone  of  surprised  pleasure  which  we  are  apt  to 
evince  at  the  discovery  in  another  of  opinions 
similar  to  our  own.  She  looked  at  me  in  a 
deeply   interested   manner,   but  I  was    not    so 


126  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

unsophisticated  as  to  ascribe  her  intensity  to  any- 
special  regard  for  me  as  an  individual.  It  was 
my  theme,  not  my  personality,  which  appealed 
to  her  imagination.  "  That  is  one  of  my  pet 
theories.  I  feel  so  much  —  don't  you?  —  that 
women,  in  order  to  retain  their  influence,  must 
learn  to  think  for  themselves." 

I  took  a  sip  of  wine,  and,  coughing  slightly, 
replied,  — 

"  I  consider  individuality  as  the  brightest  star 
in  the  coronet  of  civilization.  Miss  Langford. 
Let  that  be  suppressed,  and  humanity  will  lan- 
guish. The  ability  to  reason  more  and  more  ac- 
curately from  cause  to  effect  is  a  condition  of 
the  world's  progress.  I  am  a  Spencerian  to  that 
extent,  and  recoil  from  all  methods  calculated 
to  fetter  the  free  play  of  the  intelligence." 

"  I  suppose  you  have  read  all  Herbert  Spen- 
cer, Mr.  Lattimer.  I  am  not  familiar  with  the 
whole  of  his  works,  but  those  which  I  have  read 
interested  me  very  much.  Do  you  not  think 
that  his  philosophy  has  influenced  greatly  the 
present  generation?" 


THE  KNAVE  OF  HEARTS.  1 27 

*'  It  is  not  so  much  his  philosophy,  it  seems 
to  me,  as  his  wonderful  gift  of  detecting  the 
weak  spots  in  the  armor  of  his  adversaries.  He 
lays  error  bare  with  the  cool  precision  of  a  sur- 
geon, nor  heeds  the  writhes  of  the  victim. 
That  which  is  becoming  imprinted  on  the 
thought  of  the  day  is  the  flimsy  fallacy  of  the 
past's  deductions,  upon  which  the  philosopher 
has  let  in  a  flood  of  sunshine,  rather  than  the 
system  which  he  offers  in  their  stead.  His  so- 
called  philosophy  appears  to  me  cold  and  pulse- 
less. His  theory  of  existence  suggests  the 
gray,  frigid  tranquillity  of  a  November  sky. 
Where,  for  instance,  does  he  accord  aught  but 
a  chary  welcome  to  identity,  or  give  a  due  rank, 
among  the  potent  forces  of  the  universe,  to  the 
beautiful  devotion,  aspiring  purity,  and  unselfish 
love  of  woman?  " 

"  That  is  true,  very  true,"  she  murmured ,-  and 
I  perceived  the  keen  soul-thirst  for  the  undis- 
cernible  and  unattainable  gleaming  in  her  eyes. 

I  could  have  grasped  her  hand, —  indeed,  had 
the  surroundings   permitted,  I  think   I   should 


128  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

have  done  so,  —  and  poured  out  the  tide  of 
adulating  passion  which  swelled  up  to  my 
lips.  But  I  was  prudent  in  the  midst  of  my 
frenzy,  and  no  blind  puppet  to  the  power  of 
infatuation.  I  am  referring  now,  not  to  my 
abstention  from  a  declaration,  but  to  the  rare 
judgment  which  told  me  that  she  whom  I 
loved  was  not  a  woman  to  be  won  merely  by 
the  eloquence  of  an  enthusiastic  spirit.  Greatly 
as  she  would  admire,  and  even  idealize,  one 
whose  lofty  purposes  and  earnest  thoughts 
stirred  her  soul,  yet  I  felt  confident  that  she 
would  hesitate  to  link  her  destiny  with  any 
save  an  individual  whose  physical  traits  were 
also  excellent  It  was  not  beauty  of  face  and 
structure  that  I  had  in  mind,  though  these 
were  advantages  not  to  be  overlooked,  but 
the  exquisite  gifts  of  grace,  elegance,  and  tact, 
which  sit  as  lightly  on  the  well-bred  soul  as 
the  foam  on  the  sea.  The  body  is  the  com- 
plement of  the  spirit,  and  Virginia  Langford 
suffered  too  keenly  at  the  lapses  of  the  unre- 
fined, ever  to  give  her  heart  where  a  princely 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  1 29 

demeanor  was    not    the   concomitant   of  lofty 
character. 

And  so  I  changed  the  current  of  the  con- 
versation, and  allowed  her  to  appreciate  my 
familiarity  with  the  usages  and  diversions  of 
fashionable  society.  By  a  number  of  little 
gallantries  which  are  mere  titillations  to  a  com- 
plete belle,  but  nevertheless  acceptable,  I  proved 
that  she  would  be  justified  in  according  to  me 
that  footing  which  is  granted  only  to  equals. 
The  elegance  —  I  can  think  of  no  other  word  — 
which  had  characterized  my  attitude  toward  her 
at  the  beginning  of  the  entertainment  was  still 
noticeable,  and  I  ventured  to  add  thereto  a 
slight  flavor  of  sentimental  interest,  —  a  mere 
soupqon,  however,  one  of  those  scarcely  percep- 
tible quantities  which,  whether  in  culinary  or 
more  momentous  affairs,  are  available  only  to 
an  artist.  How  many  men  in  my  position  would 
have  yielded  to  the  superficial  temptation  of 
making  capital  out  of  the  mottoes  to  be  found 
in  the  bonbonnUres  that  followed  the  dessert !  I 
might  easily,  by  a  single  maladroit  remark  in 
9 


I30  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

connection  with  such  flippancy,  have  jarred  the 
concord  established  between  us.  To  one  couplet 
which  embodied  gross  and  egregious  flattery  I 
did  indeed  call  her  attention,  but  merely  for  the 
purpose  of  expressing  my  distaste  for  so  fulsome 
rhodomontade.  Then  drawing  forth  a  pencil  I 
proceeded  to  offer  as  a  theme  for  her  ingenuity 
several  enigmas,  principally  in  French.  With 
some  of  these  she  was  already  familiar,  but  I 
was  glad  to  find  that  she  had  never  seen  the  one 
I  considered  the  best.  It  was  an  old  conceit, 
worn  almost  threadbare  in  the  social  circle  of 
my  native  city,  but  graceful  of  its  kind.  I  had 
drawn  six  lines,  which  were  presumed  to  repre- 
sent lances,  between  the  letters  of  the  words 
J'aime,  on  my  dinner-card,  as  follows :  — 
A     A     A     A       A     A 

|J'|a|i|m|e| 

I  passed  it  for  her  inspection,  with  the  request 
that  she  would  solve  its  meaning.  For  some 
minutes  she  pondered  over  the  device,  and  made 
several  conjectures  as  to  the  interpretation. 
Finally  the  solution  occurred  to  her,  and  she 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  131 

repeated  the  phrase  in  a  tone  where  the  keen 
satisfaction  of  her  success  was  tempered  slightly 
by  the  import  of  what  the  words  conveyed. 
J^'aime  en  silence  Qsix  lances). 

"  It  is  pretty,  very  pretty,  Mr.  Lattimer,"  she 
continued. 

"  There  is  an  answer  which  in  certain  circum- 
stances would  be  appropriate,"  I  said  gayly, 
but  a  practised  ear  scarcely  could  have  failed  to 
detect  the  supplication  lurking  in  my  voice. 

I  handed  her  another  design,  which  was  a 
rough  representation  of  a  rat  resting  upon  the 
roof  of  a  house.  It  was  likewise  an  enigma  to  be 
expressed  in  French,  so  I  told  Miss  Langford. 

This  time  she  was  compelled  to  confess  her- 
self nonplussed,  and  I  wrote  the  explanation 
below  the  sketch,  with  a  quiet  smile. 

Rassure-toi  {rat  sur  toil). 

"  Ah,"  she  cried,  "  how  clever !  The  woman 
who  rose  to  the  occasion  so  charmingly  must 
have  been  worth  winning." 

"  But    the    petition    must    often    have    been 


132  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

breathed  without  evoking  so  happy  a  response," 
I  replied,  with  a  touch  of  sententiousness. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  breaking  a  bit  off  a  macaroon 
beside  her  plate ;  "  but  he  always  would  have 
the  counsel  of  England's  maiden  queen  as  a 
mentor,  — '  If  thy  heart  fails  thee,  climb  not 
at  all.'" 

The  moment  she  had  spoken  the  words  I 
could  see  that  she  repented  having  done  so ;  for, 
though  they  were  harmless  enough  in  one  sense, 
an  adept  like  myself  would  be  swift  to  note  the 
challenge  implied  therein,  which  was  made  clear 
to  my  perception  as  the  ringing  note  of  a  gen- 
uine herald  from  the  rampart  of  a  castle  of 
strength.  She  was  even  a  shade  embarrassed, 
—  an  unusual  circumstance  for  her,  —  and  a 
frown  which  was  half  a  blush  shadowed  her 
face,  just  as  the  pink  of  sunset  deepens  into 
violet. 

In  the  case  of  an  equally  proud  but  less  deli- 
cate woman  I  should  have  upset  a  wineglass  at 
this  juncture  in  order  to  give  my  neighbor  an 
opportunity  to   recover   her   equanimity  unob- 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  1 33 

served;  but  fearing  lest  so  manifest  a  piece  of 
awkwardness  might  offend  her  sensibilities,  I 
contented  myself  with  calling  the  attention  of 
the  company  to  the  absurd  appearance  of  a 
young  man  across  the  table  who  had  donned 
one  of  the  paper  head-gears  which  bonbonnUres 
contain.  It  was  a  tissue-paper  imitation  of  what 
is  known  as  a  poke-bonnet,  and  the  juvenile  in 
question,  having  tied  the  strings  underneath  his 
chin,  was  eminently  tickled  at  what  he  presumed 
to  be  his  comicality ;  whereas  he  bore  a  striking 
resemblance  to  an  insane  person,  to  say  nothing 
of  the  discomposure  of  his  hair.  I  could  not 
help  reflecting  that  a  year  or  two  back  I  had 
been  guilty  on  several  occasions  of  a  like  inanity; 
and  the  consciousness  of  my  present  dignified 
appearance,  albeit  the  result  of  experience,  as 
contrasted  with  this  youth's,  was  a  source  of 
congratulation  to  me. 

As  soon  as  the  laughter  which  this  episode 
occasioned  had  subsided,  the  hostess  gave  the 
signal  for  the  departure  of  the  ladies,  and  I, 
while   drawing  back   my  chair  to   allow   Miss 


134  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

Langford  an  abundant  means  of  egress,  bowed 
profoundly  and  respectfully.  No  vestige  of  any- 
thing but  the  address  of  a  gallant  acquaintance 
was  discernible  in  my  manner,  but  my  pulse 
quickened  joyfully  as  she  swept  by  with  queenly 
dignity  to  see  that  in  the  meeting  of  our  eyes 
hers  were  troubled,  and  that  their  violet  hue 
suggested  the  misty  atmosphere  that  veils  the 
tops  of  mountains.  Some  would  have  been 
discouraged  by  the  seeming  indifference  of  her 
air,  for  she  certainly  did  not  bestow  upon  me 
a  glance  that  a  dog  would  have  coveted  ;  but  a 
subtle  instinct,  which  belongs  at  times  as  well  to 
man  as  to  the  other  sex,  or  it  may  have  been 
the  power  of  perception  arising  from  much  ob- 
servation, told  me  that  I  was  the  subject  of  her 
reflections.  Even  as  frost  in  the  silent  night 
splits  open  the  chestnut  burrs  and  reddens  the 
leaf  of  the  maple,  so  enters  love  into  the  breast 
of  woman. 

The  passion  which  stirs  in  the  heart  of  a  man 
after  knowledge  of  life  has  freed  him  from  ser- 
vitude to  the  delusions  of  youth   makes  up  in 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  1 35 

depth  for  what  it  may  lack  in  mere  ungovernable 
ardor.  I  can  confidently  state  that  while  I  might 
readily  have  been  exposed  to  the  fascinations 
of  a  hundred  beautiful  women  without  feeling 
one  sentient  throb,  now  that  love  had  come 
again,  I  realized  his  worth  not  less,  though 
perhaps  differently,  than  in  the  days  when  he 
chafed  at  the  touch  of  the  rein.  I  could  now 
tolerate,  and  even  recognize  as  suitable,  that  the 
eternal  fitness  of  things  should  be  a  factor  in  the 
affairs  of  the  heart.  Love  should  none  the  less 
be  pure,  aspiring,  and  spontaneous ;  but  yet  ra- 
tionalism ought  so  far  to  govern  as  to  shield  the 
soul  from  an  alliance  based  wholly  on  transcen- 
dental considerations.  Affection  in  a  cottage 
no  longer  appealed  to  me  with  the  potency  of 
yore,  nor  did  also,  in  truth,  the  happiness  of  a 
union  with  a  mate  whose  family  tree  lacked  the 
symbols  of  age,  or  whose  person  was  not  a  reflex 
of  consummate  breeding.  To  love  in  the  best 
and  truest  sense,  the  faculty  of  discrimination 
must  be  on  the  alert  to  woo  the  eternal  fire  in 
its  choicest  receptacle;  or,  indeed,  the  capacity 


136  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

for  reciprocation  in  the  highest  meaning  exists 
only  where  all  the  qualities  of  human  excellence, 
both  physical  and  psychical,  are  united. 

The  discussion  of  questions  kindred  to  these  — 
of  course  purely  from  an  abstract  standpoint  — 
came  to  be  of  frequent  occurrence  between  Miss 
Langford  and  myself  She  held  strenuously  to 
the  doctrine  that  while  a  girl  should  never  marry 
save  when  her  heart  was  controlled  by  the  most 
exquisite  emotion,  yet  a  marriage  dictated  solely 
by  infatuation  might  be  an  equal  if  not  more 
disastrous  evil.  She,  as  well  as  I,  spoke  of  the 
laws  of  heredity  as  necessary  arbiters  of  alliances, 
and  she  agreed  with  me  that  a  man  was  justified 
in  allowing  the  personality  of  his  sweetheart's 
mother  to  weigh  in  the  balance  of  his  love. 
Such  as  the  parent  was,  the  daughter  would  be 
apt  to  be,  and  the  irrational  play  of  fancy  should 
be  spurred  or  curbed  accordingly. 

Taken  all  in  all,  Virginia  Langford's  nature 
was  more  ideally  beautiful  and  exalted  than  that 
of  any  woman  I  had  ever  encountered,  and  I 
rejoiced  to  think  that  the  qualities  she  prized  in 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  1 3/ 

man  were  perhaps  not  lacking  in  me.  I  did  not 
possess,  to  be  sure,  those  dazzhng  talents  which 
might  well  belong  to  the  fortunate  lover  of  so 
rare  a  creature ;  nor  was  I  wealthy,  in  the  sense 
implied  by  ambitious  mothers  when  speaking 
of  financial  catches.  But  there  was  a  singular 
unison  in  our  ideas,  a  sympathy  and  a  corre- 
lation between  our  thoughts  in  regard  to  the 
great  questions  of  life.  Her  views  upon  the 
nature  and  development  of  love,  for  instance, 
seemed  to  me  to  savor  of  a  grand  unselfish  sel- 
fishness, —  a  desire  to  play  the  part  of  a  bene- 
factress to  the  race  while  revelling  in  individual 
bliss.  To  this  point  the  gradual  development 
and  solidifying  of  character  had  also  brought 
me ;  and  instead  of  irrational  lovers,  we  were  an 
earnest,  deep-souled  man  and  woman,  keenly 
alive  to  the  failings  as  well  as  the  virtues  of  each 
other.  I  knew  well  that  she  had  faults,  and  I 
never  flattered  myself  that  mine  were  concealed 
from  her. 

It  is  difficult  to  portray,  so  as  to  render  inter- 
esting to  others   than   the  parties   immediately 


138  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

concerned,  the  details  of  our  acquaintance,  for, 
as  has  already  been  hinted,  Miss  Langford  was 
not  the  kind  of  young  woman  who  makef  her 
intimacies  with  the  other  sex  conspicuous  by 
coquetry.  She  did  not  go  out  of  her  way  to 
bring  about  seclusion,  but  obliged  me  to  seek 
her  society  in  the  bosom  of  her  family  and  in 
the  ordinary  encounters  of  young  people.  She 
declined  to  saunter  by  my  side  through  retired 
streets,  nor  did  she  tell  me  of  her  private  affairs 
more  than  was  needful  to  a  proper  friendship. 
She  read  the  books  I  lent  her,  and  asked  me  to 
repeat  many  favorite  passages  from  the  same  in 
the  dusk  of  the  library  after  five-o'clock  tea ;  but 
if  ever  in  the  ecstasy  of  my  emotions  I  seemed 
to  dwell  with  a  personal  significance  on  lines  rich 
in  sentiment,  the  slight  contraction  of  her  brow 
or  deliberate  coldness  warned  me  to  desist 
Shall  I  ever  forget  the  stately  poesy  of  her 
figure  as  she  descended  the  steps  of  the  chapel 
every  Sunday  morning,  holding  her  tiny  prayer- 
book  in  her  hand,  her  lips  eloquent  with  a  proud 
but  holy  calm?     I  loved  her  with  a  devotion 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  1 39 

that  seemed  to  lift  me  above  the  tawdry  tangle 
of  the  world. 

I  do  not  think  it  was  until  near  the  end  that 
she  was  aware  of  her  love  for  me.  Certainly  she 
never  realized  the  full  force  of  her  attachment 
before  the  time  of  parting  came.  She  was,  of 
course,  no  stranger  to  the  fact  that  I  loved  her ; 
but  that  might  mean  little  to  a  woman  at  whose 
shrine  the  lady-killers  of  two  continents  had 
languished  in  vain,  and  doubtless  she  tried  to 
believe  that  it  meant  no  more  to  her  than  when 
others  wooed.  There  are  some,  doubtless,  who 
will  ask  why  it  was  necessary  that  we  should 
part  at  all.  What  was  there  to  prevent  the 
everlasting  union  of  two  souls  so  completely 
accordant  as  ours?  I  might,  byway  of  reply, 
point  to  fate  as  the  scapegoat  to  which  belonged 
the  blame  of  our  separation,  if  indeed  blame  is 
a  word  that  can  properly  be  employed  in  con- 
nection therewith.  If  a  more  explicit  cause  be 
sought,  I  can  only  refer  once  more  to  that 
allegiance  to  the  eternal  fitness  of  things  which 
we   both    professed.      A   complete    and    strict 


I40  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

abnegation  of  self,  where  the  operation  of  the 
laws  of  Nature  was  concerned,  seemed  to  us  one 
of  the  vital  virtues  of  society. 

I  had  passed  nearly  six  weeks  in  Baltimore 
before  anything  occurred  to  suggest  the  likeli- 
hood of  our  separation  in  the  event  of  her  re- 
ciprocating my  ardent  love.  One  day  she  let 
fall  a  remark  which,  like  the  seeds  men  bury  in 
the  earth,  grew  silently  but  unfalteringly  in  my 
mind,  until  its  germination  burst  the  bonds  of 
concealment  and  overshadowed  my  happiness. 
The  language  I  have  used  may  sound  meta- 
phorical, but  her  statement  was  sufficiently  con- 
cise. There  was  consumption  in  the  family. 
Her  mother's  mother  died  a  victim  to  that 
fell  disease,  and  one  of  her  maternal  uncles 
was  on  the  point  of  dissolution  from  a  similar 
cause. 

"  Ah !  "  I  cried,  "  I  hate  to  hear  you  say 
that" 

I  sat  back  in  my  chair  and  said  no  more, 
but  I  could  tell  from  her  wincing  look  that  my 
silence   was  more  painful  to  her  than  speech. 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  14I 

She  had  tried,  for  both  our  sakes  doubtless,  to 
make  the  blight  seem  insignificant  as  possible; 
but  struggle  as  I  would,  it  was  impossible  for  me 
to  prevent  the  inroad  of  that  old  familiar  whis- 
per, Is  this  a  spirit  in  whose  companionship 
your  every  aspiration  will  find  content? 

Not  so  much  did  I  yield  to  its  influence  at 
the  time,  but  later,  when  in  the  seclusion  of  my 
own  apartment  that  evening,  I  drew  forth  from 
its  resting-place  above  my  heart  the  remnant  of 
Aunt  Selina's  gift,  and  examined  it  critically. 
All  that  was  left  of  the  once  beautiful  symbol 
was  a  segment  of  the  size  I  had  given  dear 
Blanche  Lombard  three  years  before.  It  was 
months  since  I  had  looked  at  the  trinket  which 
now  lay  sadly  shorn  of  its  proportions,  but  still 
a  veritable  symbol  of  flesh  and  blood,  in  the 
palm  of  my  hand.  With  the  gentle  sorrow 
awakened  by  the  memory  of  my  former  loves, 
I  recalled  the  old  lady's  trust  in  me,  and  her  re- 
liance upon  my  ability  to  avoid  the  family  pit- 
fall. After  so  many  years  of  well-deserved 
encomium,  was  it  meet  that  I  should  become 


142  THE  KNAVE  OF  HEARTS. 

recreant?  Was  the  passion  against  which  I  had 
striven  with  so  much  ^clat  hitherto  to  usurp  and 
conquer  me  now?  My  love  of  to-day  had  in- 
deed a  root  and  dignity  compared  to  which  my 
earher  experiences  seemed  merely  volatile  in- 
fatuation ;  but  —  ah  Virginia,  Virginia !  an  af- 
fection worthy  and  ennobling  as  ours  must  be 
self-sacrificing  rather  than  selfish !  Further  de- 
lay here  would  be  fatal,  for  in  my  weakness  — 
who  is  so  strong  as  to  wrestle  successfully  with 
love?  —  if  I  were  to  remain  I  should  marrj'  her, 
and  we,  united,  it  is  true,  but  none  the  less  de- 
liberately, should  fly  in  the  face  of  that  grand 
law  of  the  survival  of  the  fittest,  which  was  a 
light  in  the  pathway  of  us  both. 

It  is  difficult  to  estimate  precisely  the  relative 
force  of  the  various  factors  that  influence  action. 
None  familiar  with  the  genuineness  of  my  nature 
will  doubt  that  I  loved  Virginia  Langford  with 
an  intensity  calculated  to  satisfy  the  ideal  of 
those  who  regard  the  passion  of  a  true-souled 
man  for  a  woman  as  the  champion  grace.  I 
looked  upon  her  as  the  beautiful  embodiment 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  I43 

of  the  quintessence  of  feminine  qualities,  and  I 
had  never  encountered  her  equal.  Nevertheless, 
I  found  myself  handling  my  effects  with  a  view 
to  departure,  and  making  arrangements  which, 
if  persevered  in,  would  consummate  a  separa- 
tion. I  ordered  my  hotel  bill  to  be  prepared 
for  the  morrow,  and  a  berth  to  be  engaged  for 
me  in  the  sleeping-car.  A  force  against  which 
I  seemed  to  strive  in  vain  controlled  my  actions. 
Darling  Virginia  !  And  yet  has  not  conscience 
claims  before  which  love's  most  delicious  dream 
must  melt  away,  even  though  it  dissolve  in 
tears  ? 

The  next  afternoon  I  drove  to  the  Langfords, 
and,  though  the  avowal  caused  me  bitter  tor- 
ment, announced  my  departure  on  that  evening. 

"What!     Going  to-day?" 

Often  as  I  had  heard  those  words  fall  from 
rarely  chiselled  lips  at  similar  junctures,  they 
never  affected  me  so  powerfully  as  on  this  occa- 
sion. Any  thrill  of  awakened  self-esteem  at 
the  tribute  to  my  fascinations  implied  in  the 
plaintiveness  of  her  utterance  was  swallowed  up 


144  THE  KNAVE  OF  HEARTS. 

completely  by  the  deep  sense  of  the  loss  I  was 
about  to  sustain. 

"  Yes ;  business  of  importance  demands  my 
attention.     A  telegram  "  — 

I  could  proceed  no  further.  My  voice  choked 
with  the  burden  of  its  emotion,  which  I  turned 
my  head  hastily  away  to  conceal. 

The  drooping  of  her  proud  head  upon  her 
bosom  revealed  to  me  no  secret,  but  the  action 
served  to  confirm  the  resolution  I  had  previously 
formed.  It  would  be  cruelty  unworthy  of  a 
noble  soul,  not  to  say  a  gentleman,  were  I  to 
defer  longer  the  hour  of  parting.  Even  a  few 
days  of  procrastination  might  easily  render  the 
shock  of  separation  too  rude  for  her  endurance. 

"  Virginia,  can  you  doubt  for  a  moment  I  love 
you,  and  that  necessity  alone  disunites  us?" 

On  bended  knee  I  seized  her  hand,  and 
touched  with  my  lips  the  white  surface, —  an  un- 
conscious action,  of  which  I  was  made  aware  by 
the  contact  of  the  -cold  setting  of  the  sapphire 
ring  which  adorned  her  finger.  Yet,  when  ap- 
prized of  my  temerity,  I  pressed  another  chaste 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  145 

kiss  upon  the  flesh.  Her  hand  trembled  in 
mine,  as  the  earth  when  thunders  bellow  loud- 
est, and,  lest  there  might  have  been  ambiguity 
in  my  language,  I  said,  — 

"  Truth  dwells  not  in  caves,  but  on  the  moun- 
tain tops ;  still,  what  boots  a  confession  of  love 
betwixt  you  and  me  when  fate,  cruel  as  adamant 
but  no  less  unyielding,  is  about  to  tear  us  apart 
forever." 

She  sought  to  withdraw  her  fingers  from 
my  grasp,  and  wiped  with  a  lace  handkerchief 
her  lustrous  eyes,  where  the  tears  had  already 
gathered. 

"  I  do  not  understand,"  she  murmured ;  and 
so  great  was  her  trust  in  my  sincerity  that  no 
shade  of  the  queenly  hauteur  which  mantled  her 
air  toward  all  others  was  apparent  even  now. 

"  Have  you  forgotten,  Virginia,  what  you  told 
me  yesterday?" 

My  phrase  wore  the  garment  of  a  profound 

despair,  but  its  misery  paled  before  the  anguish 

which  tortured  her  patrician  profile  when  she 

had  wrung  from  memory  the  meaning   of  my 

10 


146  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

words,  which  did  not  come  to  her  at  once,  but 
with  a  revelation  gradual  as  the  approach  of 
dawn. 

"  Love  of  mine,"  I  continued,  "  let  us  be 
true  and  steadfast  to  those  noble  principles 
which,  if  we  were  not  the  first  to  disclose  to 
mankind,  we  can  at  least  make  permanent  by- 
example." 

"  Yes,"  she  whispered ;  "  I  see,  —  I  under- 
stand.    It  is  impossible.     You  are  right." 

"But  you  love  me,  do  you  not?  Oh,  say- 
that  you  love  me  !  Little  as  I  prize  that  virtue 
which  is  based  on  a  system  of  rewards  and 
punishments,  give  me,  in  return  for  this  ab- 
negation, the  bliss  of  knowing  I  am  not  unduly 
confident." 

For  an  instant  she  did  not  respond.  That 
pride  which  was  her  noblest  adornment  was 
also  her  most  jealous  guardian.  Her  violet 
eyes,  erst  liquid,  scintillated  a  strange  gleam. 
Her  frame  shook,  and  her  gentle  bosom  rose 
and  fell  with  the  spasmodic  pulsation  of  heat- 
lightning.     Then   she   turned   to   me,   and    the 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  1 47 

whole  wealth  of  her  ardent  Southern  nature 
seemed  to  dissipate  pride,  as  a  huge  wave  of 
the  sea  sweeps  in  a  breath  the  deck  of  the 
stalwart  ship,  — 

"  Yes ;   I  do  love  you  !  " 

The  overwhelming  sweep  of  the  ocean  wave 
typified,  too,  the  vehemence  of  my  embrace, 
for.  reaching  out  my  arms  I  clasped  her  to  my 
breast,  —  her,  the  queenly  Virginia,  the  superb 
patrician,  the  haughtiest  and  loveliest  of  the 
daughters  of  the  South.  In  the  impetuosity  of 
our  mutual  mood  our  lips  met  in  a  deep,  fervid 
kiss. 

"  My  own,  my  sweet !  "  I  murmured,  "  fate 
cannot  rob  us  of  this  moment's  happiness. 
Come  what  may,  —  and  would  to  Heaven  some 
dispensation  of  Providence  may  open  to  us  the 
gates  before  which  the  angel  of  conscience 
stands  with  flaming  sword,  —  come  what  may, 
this  hour's  rapture  will  atone  for  a  plethora  of 
sorrow.  We  must  part,  but  I  at  least  shall 
carry  away  with  me  an  influence  for  good  that 
will  color  the  current  of  my  life,  and  serve  as  a 


148  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

beacon  and  a  blissful  memory  in  outcast  hours. 
Through  your  ministration,  dearest,  I  have 
learned  that  even  more  noble  than  the  capacity 
to  appreciate  a  soul  queenly  as  yours  is  the 
strength  to  renounce  on  the  threshold  of  joy 
that  same  soul  at  the  call  of  duty." 

The  completion  of  my  words  found  her  calm 
and  composed.  Her  head  no  longer  touched 
my  shoulder,  but  upright  and  face  to  face  we 
stood  hand  in  hand.  Her  lips  still  trembled, 
warning  me  that  any  display  of  irresolution  on 
my  part  would  be  a  knife  in  the  side  of  the 
duty  to  the  behests  of  which  so  much  deep 
love  was  to  be  sacrificed.  A  single  phrase,  — 
a  mere  gesture,  —  I  ween,  would  have  mastered 
her  scruples  and  prompted  her  to  speed  with 
me  to  the  altar.  So  deep  and  strong  is  the 
love  of  woman,  that,  like  the  pelican,  she  will 
at  the  last  feed  on  that  moral  vigor  which  is  as 
the  life-blood  of  her  being.  It  was  I  who  here 
stood  steadfast  and  forbade  the  banns. 

"Is  it  then  needful,  —  must  we  part?"  she 
whispered. 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  1 49 

"  O  darling,  if  conscience  would  but  loose 
the  seal  from  my  lips,  how  gladly  should  I 
breathe  accents  to  make  you  eternally  radi- 
ant !  Alas !  there  is  no  such  boon  in  store 
for  us." 

We  were  standing  in  the  library,  surrounded 
by  all  the  household  gods  which,  associated  with 
my  darling,  had  become  so  precious  to  me. 
Her  favorite  books  lay  close  at  hand.  A  pet 
dog  lying  on  the  hearth-rug  slept  unconscious 
of  our  suffering.  The  tea-urn  sang  merrily, 
in  evidence  that  Nature's  laws  must  play  the 
Spartan,  nor  falter  one  jot  or  tittle,  though 
two  hearts  were  breaking.  Clasping  her  white 
hand  once  more  with  both  of  mine,  I  bent 
a  passionate  kiss  thereon,  and  placed  in  her 
grasp  the  remnant  of  Aunt  Selina's  bauble, 
saying,  — 

"  Receive  this  gift,  insignificant  though  it  be, 
in  token  of  our  friendship.  Believe  me,  you 
have  all  that  there  is  of  my  heart !  " 

I  bowed,  and  to  conceal  my  deep  emotion 
left  the  apartment.    Pausing  at  the  bottom  of  the 


ISO  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

Staircase,  I  could  not  forbear  from  looking  back ; 
perchance  the  rustle  of  her  garment  reached 
my  ear.  She  stood  erect  upon  the  landing  in 
all  the  magnificence  of  her  statuesque  misery. 
A  look  was  in  her  eyes  that  went  to  my  heart, 
as  the  arrow  flies  to  the  heart  of  the  woodland 
monarch  from  the  bow  of  the  archer.  A  light 
gauze  drapery,  half  fallen  from  her  shoulders, 
gave  to  her  maiden  majesty  the  aspect  of  a 
sorrowful  Diana.  One  moment  I  faltered,  then 
speeding  up  the  oaken  stairway  I  was  by  her 
side.  Some  in  my  position  would  have  fallen 
at  her  feet  and  said,  "  Let  those  who  have  no 
joy,  hug  duty ;  "  but  pressing  her  to  my  breast 
I  kissed  her  with  treble  rapture,  only  to  cast 
her  loose  again.  In  a  voice  hoarse  with  a 
passion  that,  though  mastered,  was  still  clamor- 
ous, I  cried,  — 

"  Farewell,  my  love,  forever  and  forever !  " 
An  hour  later  I  was  bowling  over  the  railway. 

Time,  which   had    so    far   touched    me   with 
its  finger  as  to  cause  my  mother  to  exclaim, 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  151 

as  she  bent  over  my  chair  on  the  evening  of 
my  home  return,  "Why,  Arthur,  here  is  a  gray 
hair !  "  had  wrought  a  wondrous  change  in  the 
three  fair  girls  who  rejoice  to  call  themselves 
my  sisters.  Alice  Maud  was  become  a  slim, 
dreamy-eyed  maiden  of  eighteen  summers,  and 
even  the  little  Medora  could  no  longer  lay 
claim  to  such  an  adjective,  except  by  a  serious 
straining  of  the  term.  In  one  corner  of  the 
apartment  Julia  Pierson  was  conversing  with  a 
light-haired  youth,  upon  whose  upper  lip  the 
fluff  of  a  callow  age  had  sprouted  feebly. 

Experience  had  taught  me  that  it  was  useless 
to  strive  to  conceal  from  these  beloved,  but 
astute,  young  persons  the  incidents  of  my  rela- 
tions with  their  own  sex.  Hence  I  no  longer 
sought  to  mystify  them  or  to  put  them  off  the 
scent  by  cunning  responses.  Sooner  or  later 
they  were  certain  to  discover  the  real  state  of 
the  case,  and  taunt  me  exultantly.  Anything 
in  the  nature  of  a  sentimental  episode  was  a 
source  of  immense  excitement  to  each  and  all 
of  them. 


152  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

"  Alice  Maud,"  said  I,  "  you  ought  to  go  to 
Baltimore,  if  only  for  the  pleasure  of  seeing  the 
beautiful  Miss  Langford.  She  is  an  exquisite 
creature,  and  had  I  been  a  marrying  man  I 
should  have  been  tempted  to  cast  myself  on  my 
knees  before  her." 

"Oh,  why  didn't  you?  I  know  I  should 
adore  her,"  said  my  eldest  sister,  with  all  the 
enthusiastic  confidence  of  youth. 

"But  why  aren't  you  a  marrying  man?" 
asked  little  Medora.  "  It  would  be  lovely  to 
have  her  for  a  sister." 

"  Yes,  it  is  high  time  for  you  to  be  married," 
exclaimed  my  mother. 

"  Of  course  it  is,"  broke  in  the  head  of  the 
house,  looking  up  from  his  newspaper ;  "  I  was 
a  father  at  your  age." 

**  You  know  that  Aunt  Selina  says  I  am  the 
Knave  of  Hearts,"  I  answered  quietly ;  and  then 
with  a  sigh  I  added,  "  One  cannot  wed  without 
loving." 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  Julia  Pierson,  from  her 
corner ;  "  but  you  were  in  love  once,  I  am  sure." 


THE  KNAVE  OF  HEARTS.  1 53 

"With  whom,  miss,  pray?" 

My  tone  betrayed  my  indignation. 

"  Leila  Johnson.  I  dare  say  she  would  have 
you  if  you  were  to  ask  her." 

"  Very  likely,"  I  responded  dryly. 

"  She  is  a  great  deal  too  good  for  you. 
There !  " 

The  eye  of  Julia  Pierson  flashed,  and  the 
youth  at  her  side  must  have  been  surprised  at 
such  an  ebullition  from  a  child  ordinarily  so 
meek. 

I  laughed  sardonically,  and  was  on  the  point 
of  making  some  cutting  reply  when  the  rustle 
of  Aunt  Selina's  dress  told  me  that  my  aged 
relative  was  leaving  the  room.  As  she  passed 
my  chair  she  let  fall,  it  seemed  to  me  design- 
edly, her  ball  of  worsted,  which  I  proceeded  to 
pick  up.  A  moment's  consideration  decided 
my  course  of  action,  and  I  reached  the  thresh- 
old of  her  chamber  shortly  after  she  had 
crossed  it. 

"  Sit  down,  Arthur;  I  must  collect  my  breath 
a  httle,"  said  Aunt  Selina. 


154  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

The  poor  old  lady  had  aged  much  since  the 
day  she  last  had  done  me  the  honors  of  her 
apartment.  The  crow's-feet  had  furrowed  deeper 
lines  in  her  withered  countenance,  and  her 
peaked  chin  was  almost  a  point.  Her  ferret 
eyes,  however,  still  glittered  keenly  as  of  yore, 
and  though  she  hobbled  painfully,  there  was 
elasticity  in  her  demeanor. 

Despite  her  remark,  she  did  not  at  once  sit 
down,  but  proceeded  to  rummage  in  her  ancient 
mahogany  escritoire,  whence  she  took  out  the 
package  of  letters  tied  about  with  a  faded  laven- 
der ribbon,  which  I  had  seen  at  our  previous 
interview.  She  likewise  produced  from  the 
closet  another  bottle  of  the  old  Madeira  I  had 
enjoyed  so  greatly. 

"This  is  the  last  bottle,  my  dear.  There  is 
no  such  wine  in  the  country." 

"You  are  quite  right,  aunt.  Its  peer  does 
not  exist." 

She  watched  me  sip  the  golden  fluid. 

"  Arthur,"  she  said,  "  I  am  glad  to  see  you 
again.     You  are  a  great  comfort  to  me." 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  1 55 

I  bowed  gravely,  and  raised  my  glass  again, 
with  a  gesture  implying  that  I  drank  her  health. 

"  Your  sisters,"  she  observed,  **  have  disap- 
pointed me." 

"  Scarcely  that,  I  should  say,  aunt.  There  was 
little  reason  to  beheve  that  their  evolution  would 
be  satisfactory." 

"  You  are  right,  dear.  I  always  prophesied 
that  they  would  develop  the  family  failing." 

"  Ripe  apples  are  not  more  certain  to  fall  to 
earth  at  the  breath  of  Boreas  than  my  sisters  to 
repair  to  the  altar  at  an  early  age,"  I  responded 
laconically. 

"  Julia  Pierson  is  the  worst,"  said  the  old  lady. 
"  She  has  a  sentimental  interest  already  in  the 
fair-haired  stripling  below ;  but  it  is  not  concern- 
ing them,  but  you,  that  I  desire  to  speak.  I  am 
an  old  woman,  and  my  days  hardly  will  outlast 
the  fragrant  wine  you  are  quaffing." 

She  paused,  moved  by  the  reflection,  and  I 
endeavored  to  put  into  pleasing  speech  the  hope 
and  conviction  that  she  would  live  to  see  many 
a  vintage  gathered. 


156  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS, 

"  No,  no,  flatterer !  "  she  cried.  "  I  am  only  a 
withered  leaf  which  the  first  breeze  will  loosen 
from  the  bough." 

Still  she  seemed  pleased  at  my  observation, 
and  helped  herself  to  Madeira  before  proceeding. 

"  Arthur,  I  wish  to  intrust  to  your  keeping  all 
that  I  possess  of  value,  so  that  in  the  event  of 
my  death  no  unsympathetic  eyes  may  peep  at 
my  secret.  This  miniature  "  (here  she  fumbled 
in  her  pocket  and  reproduced  the  familiar 
leather  case)  "  you  already  know.  These  letters 
are  the  archives  of  a  love  which,  though  sep- 
ulchred, still  lives  in  all  its  old-time  vigor.  But 
yet  this  packet  contains  one  piece  of  parchment, 
the  perusal  of  which  will  not  fail  to  cause  you 
surprise,  and  it  may  be  pity,  for  the  poor  relative 
whose  executor  you  are  about  to  become.  Re- 
ceive them,  my  nephew,  but  without  comment, 
pray.  When  I  am  dust,  you  will  find  no  diffi- 
culty in  solving  this  enigma." 

I  took  the  packet  and  miniature  from  her 
trembling  hand,  though  not  before  she  had 
opened   the   case   and   pressed  a  burning  kiss 


THE  KNAVE  OF  HEARTS.  IS7 

upon  the  features  of  the  dashing  youth  there 
reproduced.  Tears  streamed  from  her  aged 
eyes,  and  while  she  sought  to  stem  their  force 
by  means  of  her  yellow  lace  handkerchief  I 
turned  my  head  discreetly  away.  When  I  re- 
newed my  gaze  in  her  direction  I  was  surprised 
to  find  that  she  was  smiling  at  me  through  her 
tears.  In  a  cracked,  fiendish  treble  that  had 
more  of  the  witch  in  its  cadence  than  any  sound 
to  which  I  had  ever  listened,  the  aged  spinster 
uttered  these  words  as  she  raised  her  glass  to 
her  lips :  — 

"  I  drink  to  the  Knave  of  Hearts.    Ha !  ha !" 
"  Madam,"    said    I,    with    dignified    decorum, 
though  shuddering  a  Httle  withal,  "your  most 
obedient." 

It  is  my  custom  when  partaking  of  a  beverage 
to  look  over  the  rim  of  the  glass  rather  than 
into  it.  As  I  swallowed  the  rare  liquor  with  a 
deliberation  due  to  its  quality  I  became  aware 
that  Aunt  Selina's  features  were  undergoing  a 
change.  She  gasped  once  or  twice,  and  half 
rose  from  her  chair  in  the  exquisiteness  of  her 


158  THE  KNAVE  OF  HEARTS. 

efforts.  I  sprang  from  mine  to  assist  her,  but 
before  I  could  reach  her  side  the  shrivelled 
dame  fell  back  inert  and  wax-like.  Aunt  Selina 
was  dead ! 


EfH^^ 

s^^s 

^^^ 

1 

V. 


When  I  alighted  from  the  Bar  Harbor 
steamer,  three  months  later,  I  was  wearing  a 
weed  on  my  hat  of  the  width  appropriate  to  one 
mourning  a  great-great-aunt.  The  Professor, 
who  again  came  to  meet  me,  glanced  at  this 
badge  of  sorrow  critically  but  respectfully,  as  I 
answered,  in  response  to  a  remark  of  his  con- 
cerning sundry  festivities,  that  I  expected  to  be 
very  quiet. 

"  Oh,  I  had  n't  heard,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,  I  have  lost  my  great-great-aunt  on  my 
father's  side." 

The  Professor  was  silent  a  minute.  Presently 
he  inquired,  — 

"  Did  she  leave  you  anything?  " 


l6o  THE  KNAVE  OF  HEARTS. 

"  Nothing  to  speak  of,"  was  my  reply. 

"  Oh !  " 

The  Professor  asked  no  more  questions,  but 
evidently  did  not  regard  my  affliction  as  incon- 
sistent with  his  whistling  softly  the  air  known 
as  "  Over  the  Garden  Wall." 

"  May  Corcoran  is  down  here." 

"Is  she?"  I  responded,  with  quiet  indiffer- 
ence. 

"  Yes,  and  so  is  Maud  Bittinger.  I  told  them 
both  you  were  coming." 

Miss  Bittinger  was  a  young  lady  who  stood 
number  four  on  the  list  of  those  with  whom  I 
had  been  intimate. 

"  Professor,"  I  said  calmly,  "  I  have  come  to 
Bar  Harbor  for  meditation,  not  to  seek  society. 
I  have  reason  to  believe  that  the  woman  does 
not  exist  who  can  bring  the  flush  of  interest  to 
my  cheek." 

"  Dear  heart ! "  said  the  Professor,  "  is  it  as 
bad  as  that?"  He  did  not  speak  for  some 
moments.  At  last  he  said,  "  There  is  one  girl 
down   here  whom   I   wish    you   would   tackle. 


THE  KNAVE  OF  HEARTS.  l6l 

Any  number  of  men  have  come  to  grief  in  that 
direction." 

I  laughed  the  half-scornful,  half-amused  laugh 
of  one  used  to  easy  conquest,  — 

"  Have  you  tried  your  hand  on  her,  Pro- 
fessor?" 

"  Yes,"  he  whispered.  "  You  need  n't  publish 
it,  but  I  have.  Between  you  and  me,  I  worked 
hard  for  nearly  a  fortnight.  It  was  no  use, 
though ;    she  did  n't  weaken  in  the  least." 

He  seesawed  his  hand  while  talking,  by  way 
of  emphasis. 

"  Her  name  is  Mabel  Westering,"  he  con- 
tinued. 

"Westering?" 

"Yes;  do  you  know  her?  I  believe  she 
comes  from  Chicago." 

"  No ;  I  have  never  heard  of  her  before." 

I  was  a  little  interested,  however,  by  the  co- 
incidence of  the  name.  Could  she  by  any  pos- 
sibility belong  to  the  family  of  Aunt  Selina's 
sweetheart,  I  wondered,  with  a  sort  of  lazy 
speculation. 


1 62  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

We  were  walking  up  the  road  from  the  pier, 
and  so  familiar  was  I  with  the  surroundings  that 
I  failed  even  to  scan  the  beautiful  faces  visible 
at  almost  every  step.  I  felt  that  I  had  already 
ample  acquaintance  with  the  various  types  of 
womanhood,  and  I  experienced  somewhat  the 
sensations  of  one  who  beholds  in  the  morning 
light  the  scene  of  last  evening's  banquet. 

"  She  is  tall  and  stately,"  said  the  Professor, 
"  with  dark  chestnut  hair  and  deep  brown  eyes. 
She  has  read  everything,  and  she's  the  best 
climber  in  the  place.  She  takes  long  walks  by 
herself.  The  story  is,"  he  added  somewhat 
ruefully,  "  she  says  there  isn  't  a  man  here 
worth  bothering  her  head  about.  There  's  your 
chance,  Arthur." 

"  Have  n't  I  told  you  already  that  I  'm  not  in 
the  mood  for  anything  of  the  kind?  Besides, 
when  a  man  gets  to  our  age.  Professor,  he  has  run 
across  about  every  pattern  of  fair  one  there  is. 
I  've  gone  through  the  list  pretty  thoroughly." 

"  I  know,"  he  answered,  shaking  his  head ; 
"  but  she  is  something  unique." 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  1 63 

" Nous  verrons"  I  said,  with  quiet  confidence, 
and  hummed  the  words  of  the  Shakespearean 
verse,  — 

"  Why,  let  the  strucken  deer  go  weep, 
The  hart  ungalled  play  ; 
For  some  must  watch,  while  some  must  sleep  ; 
So  runs  the  world  away." 

That  day  I  spent  in  the  privacy  of  my  apart- 
ments, putting  my  things  to  rights.  Toward 
evenfall,  indeed,  I  sauntered  out  for  a  short 
time  to  breathe  the  fresh,  invigorating  air.  I 
felt  contemplative,  and  far  from  inclined  for  ad- 
venture. To  tell  the  truth,  from  a  strange  dread 
of  what  might  be  the  character  of  Aunt  Selina's 
secret,  I  had  delayed  examining  the  packet  in- 
trusted to  my  keeping.  She  had  been  in  the 
tomb  three  months,  but  the  reluctance  of  my 
constant  nature  to  anticipate  change  and  alter 
the  peacefulness  of  the  present  had  made  me 
dilatory  in  the  consummation  of  this  last 
funeral  rite. 

My  own  private  reflections  were  also  of  a 
morbid   order.      The   intense   yearning  to   en- 


1 64  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

counter  some  spirit  in  whose  companionship 
my  every  aspiration  would  find  content  was  still 
rife  within  me,  and  as  my  eyes  traced  the  thin 
glittering  streak  of  the  new  moon  down  the 
evening  sky,  my  bosom  thrilled  with  exquisite 
emotion.  And  yet  the  next  instant  the  remem- 
brance overcame  me  that  I  was  as  distant  from 
the  goal  as  ever,  and  the  soul  was  still  to  be 
found  whose  affinity  for  mine  was  such  as  the 
earth  for  the  rain-cloud.  But  should  I  ever 
meet  a  spirit  of  so  rare  a  texture?  Were  not 
my  aspirations  so  completely  refined  and  ethe- 
realized  as  to  preclude  my  encountering  a  kin- 
dred nature  in  the  realms  of  matter?  I  had  no 
wish  to  be  supersubtle  in  detecting  blemishes  in 
the  sweet  maidens  whose  hearts  were  exposed  to 
my  attractions ;  but  had  not  my  powers  of  criti- 
cism and  discernment  become  so  far  magnified 
by  experience  as  to  be  able  to  perceive  flaws  that 
escaped  the  observation  of  minds  more  super- 
ficial? The  dreadful  fear  lest  I  had  reached  a 
state  which  lifted  me  above  the  category  of 
human  lovers  stalked  at  my  side  like  a  spectre. 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  1 65 

Such  thoughts  for  many  weeks  had  preyed 
upon  my  mind,  and  they  were  still  a  part  of  my 
consciousness,  when,  staff  in  hand,  I  started 
upon  the  following  day  to  seek  a  spot  safe  from 
scrutiny,  where  I  might  sit  and  investigate  Aunt 
Selina's  packet.  I  walked  for  several  miles 
through  fern  and  brake,  and  then  branched  off 
and  pursued  a  direct  line  toward  the  shore.  An 
intimate  knowledge  of  the  coast  revealed  to  me 
shortly  the  access  to  a  smooth  ledge,  which  the 
ebb  tide  leaves  uncovered  just  in  the  jaw  of  a 
precipitous  chasm.  It  requires  some  skill  as  a 
rambler  to  be  willing  to  select  so  retired  a  rest- 
ing-place, for  the  spot  in  question  lies  several 
hundred  feet  below  the  bank,  and  is  only  to  be 
reached  by  a  sheer  and  difficult  descent.  Nev- 
ertheless, when  once  the  obstacles  are  over- 
come the  lover  of  Nature's  beauties  is  amply 
rewarded.  I  found  myself  on  the  brink  of  a 
foaming  flood,  which  surged  in  eddying  cur- 
rents of  creamy  white  and  lucent  green  around 
the  base  of  the  bowlder  on  which  I  was  sitting, 
and,  twisting  away  into  the  bowels  of  the  chasm 


1 66  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

beyond,  laved  its  towering  walls  with  columns 
of  spray.  The  broad  expanse  of  the  deep 
stretched  away  to  the  horizon,  and  the  curves 
of  the  shore  brought  into  relief  on  either  hand 
jagged  spurs  of  crag-beetling  cliffs,  and  rocks 
fringed  with  the  brown  mane  of  ocean, 

"  Aunt  Selina,  dear  Aunt  Selina !  "  So  I 
prefaced  my  examination  of  the  packet  tied 
with  the  faded  lavender  ribbon.  There  were  no 
human  ears  to  hear  my  soliloquy ;  only  the  sea- 
gulls, that  with  strident  cries  circled  above  my 
head. 

The  letters  were  seemingly  those  of  an  ar- 
dent, generous  nature.  Their  phrases  savored 
little  of  the  cautious  conservatism  of  the  pres- 
ent day.  They  suggested  rather  the  free,  un- 
fettered play  of  the  sea,  which  he  who  penned 
them  gloried  in.  Some  were  mere  scraps,  writ- 
ten at  odd  moments,  when  love's  lightning  en- 
tered the  sailor's  soul  and  bade  him  strike. 
Others  were  redolent  with  the  fragrant  perfume 
of  poesy,  exhumed  at  quiet  hours,  in  the  exu- 
berance of  leisure.     So,  at  least,  I  judged  the 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  1 67 

garnered  correspondence  of  the  pirate  captain, 
whose  trophy  was  the  heart  of  my  maiden  aunt. 
Long  as  the  lapse  of  years  must  have  seemed 
to  her  true  spirit,  his  death  could  not  rob  her  of 
these  sweet  memories.  In  their  old-fashioned 
way,  this  couple  had  doubtless  realized  much  of 
the  intensity  of  love.  Why  should  it  not  have 
been  so?  They  were  too  undeveloped  to  under- 
stand the  long-drawn-out  rapture  of  a  soul  sus- 
ceptible and  yearning  as  mine.  Time  —  that 
great  unsealer  of  secrets  —  granted,  it  is  true,  to 
Aunt  Selina  to  discern  the  possibility  of  a  more 
complete  happiness  than  she  had  known ;  but 
such  is  the  fate  of  all  who  outlive  the  meth- 
ods of  their  own  generation.  It  is  essential  to 
human  progress  that  we  should  rise  to  higher 
things  on  the  stepping-stones  of  our  dead 
selves.  Age  sees  the  error  of  its  spring-tide 
days,  and  loves  to  play  the  pilot  and  mentor 
to  adolescence. 

As  thus  I  pondered,  I  was  holding  between 
my  fingers  a  letter  written  in  a  different  hand 
from  the  others,  and  addressed  — 


1 68  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

To 
Mistress  Selina  Lattimer,  Splster, 

Att  ye  Port  of  Boston, 

Massachusetts  Bay. 

Unfolding  the  document,  the  seal  of  which 
other  hands  than  mine  had  sundered,  I  read  as 
follows :  — 

London. 

Worshipful  Mistress  :  It  having  pleased  the  Al- 
mighty God  to  order  it  that  myselfe  &  my  two  bigest 
sons  tho  small  should  be  left  fatherless  by  ye  death  of 
Captain  Michael  Westering  late  mariner  of  his  Majesty 
his  service,  —  my  youngest  son  having  been  lost  in  ye 
barque  Phantom  with  his  father,  my  husbSd  —  I  have 
found  among  ye  papers  of  ye  late  departed  sundry 
memorials  of  his  early  days,  namely :  One  miniature, 
one  packet  of  letters  signed  "  yr.  loving  and  soon  to  be 
partaker  of  your  joys  and  sorrows,  Selina,"  one  needle- 
boke  in  ye  shape  of  a  heart  marked  with  ye  leters  S.  L. 
lo  M.  W.,  and  fashioned  doubtles  for  service  on  ye 
deep  where  women  folk  be  not  mostly.  Being  in 
great  difficultyes,  sore  pressed  to  raise  moneys  and 
knowing  yt  my  husband  died  having  ye  fear  of  God  in 
mind,  with  repentSce  for  hys  former  sins,  I  make  bolde 
to  ofer  these  relicks  to  your  consideration,  yett  for 
hard  cashe  nevertheless,  —  to  wit  jQio  lawful  money 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  1 69 

of  ye  realm  —  So  be  it  yt  you  have  desire  to  hold 
coinunication  with  me  regarding  ye  same  relicks  or 
memorials  adress  Mistress  Alice  Westering  at  ye  sign 
of  ye  Blue  Lion,  Fleet  Street,  and  am 

Your  very  Ready  and  obediet  servant. 

A.  W. 

P.  S.  —  One  Paul  Jones,  a  pubHsher,  who  purposes 
to  make  a  record  of  doings  of  my  deceased  husbad 
in  hys  book  of  famous  pirates  is  willyng  to  give  me 
^6  for  the  writyngs. 

My  feelings  during  the  perusal  of  this  ex- 
traordinary composition  were  of  an  acute  order. 
It  was  thus  apparent  that  my  late  lamented  aunt 
had  lived  for  many  years  the  possessor  of  a  se- 
cret which  must  have  gnawed  at  her  very  heart- 
strings. Whilst  all  the  world  believed  her  lover 
to  be  sleeping  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  near  to 
the  coast  of  Guinea,  the  faithless  pirate  had 
broken  faith  with  the  maiden  who  had  bestowed 
upon  him  her  pure,  devoted  heart,  and  wedded 
another,  —  another,  who  ten  years  later  had  not 
been  too  delicate  nor  too  proud  to  practise 
petty  blackmail  on  her  unfortunate  rival. 


I70  THE  KNAVE  OF  HEARTS. 

Poor  Aunt  Selina !  This,  then,  was  the 
mystery  which  had  served  to  jaundice  the  aged 
spinster's  disposition,  and  caused  her  to  regard 
a  complete  surrender  of  the  affections  in  early 
youth  as  a  badge  of  folly.  The  explanation 
of  her  desire  to  save  me  from  a  fate  similar 
to  hers  —  to  withhold  me  from  a  bestowal  of 
my  whole  heart  until  discretion  came  with  the 
increase  of  years  —  was  now  manifest.  She  had 
discerned  in  me  a  yearning  susceptibility  which, 
unless  judicious  counsel  was  at  hand,  would 
speedily  plunge  me  into  hopeless  difficulty. 
She  had  seen  that,  if  left  to  my  own  devices, 
the  veriest  chit  of  a  maid  might  have  played 
fast  and  loose  with  my  love.  And  so  she  had 
spoken;  so  she  had  taken  me  aside  and  said: 
"  My  son,  let  us  reason  together,"  It  was  her 
admonitions  that  had  been  a  light  to  my  feet 
through  the  mazy  fields  of  festivity,  where 
infatuation  lurks  behind  each  hedgerow  and 
fancy  plays  the  will-o'-the-wisp  to  the  under- 
standing. Instinctively  I  took  from  my  pocket 
the   note-book  which   contained   the  chronicle 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 


171 


of  my  experiences  since  the  day  Aunt  Selina 
first  favored  me  with  her  counsel,  and  ran 
my  eye  over  its  pages.  Only  a  few  hours 
before  I  had  conceived  the  idea  of  making  a 
summary  or  condensation  of  its  contents,  just 
as  a  banker  balances  his  books  at  the  close  of 
the  year,  and  I  had  drawn  up  a  statement  to 
the  following  effect :  — 


Blanche  Lombard, 
May  Corcoran, 
Cora  A.  Delaney, 
Maud  Bittinger, 
Henrietta  Milford  Davis, 
Virginia  Langford, 


To  one  heart. 


c 

'a, 


August  I,  1881. 

To 

Arthur 

Lattimer, 

Esq., 

Bachelor, 

Drs. 


ITEMIZED   ACCOUNT. 


I. 

January,  1878. 
Blanche  Lombard,  of  New  York,  N.  Y. 

Blonde ;    superb    physique ;     fine    animal    spirits ; 
giggles. 

"  You  horrid  thing ;  I  never  will  speak  to  you  again." 


172  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 


2. 

August,  1878. 
May  Corcoran,  of  Philadelphia,  Penn. 

Brunette ;  rare  intelligence ;  speaking  eyes ;  wears 
the  look  of  a  woman  in  search  of  a  happiness  of 
which  she  has  dreamed  but  never  experienced. 

"I  have  known  all  my  life  what  it  is  to  struggle 

against  fate.     I  am  quite  alone  in  the  world.     I  am 

an  orphan." 

1 


3-  6 

February,  1879. 

Cora  E.  Delaney,  of  Chicago,  111. 

Petite,  bewitching ;  vivacious  ;  very  small  hands  and 
feet ;  black  snappy  eyes. 

Prefers  to  be  called  "  Miss  Birdie  "  by  her.  "gentle- 
men friends," 

"  Ma  always  leaves  the  room  when  I  have  company." 


4- 

July,  1879. 

Maud  BrmNGER,  of  Albany,  N.  Y. 

Tall,   graceful,   dignified;    lineal   descendant   of   a 

Patroon  ;    sHght    foreign     accent  ;     loves      books ; 

dresses  well. 

"  Have  you  read  Dante,  Mr.  Lattimer  ?  " 

"I  wish  you  would  tell  me  my  faults.     There  is 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  1 73 

nothing  I  think  more  undignified  than  confidences 
between  persons  who  are  almost  strangers  ;  but  where 
there  is  perfect  friendship  and  reliance  on  both  sides 
I  believe  in  throwing  off  reserve." 

1 


5.  6 

July,  i88o. 
Henrietta  Milford  Davis,  of  Germantown,  Penn. 

Quaker  origin;  simple,  quiet,  reserved;  a  pure, 
child-like  nature. 

"  I  do  not  care  for  excitement.  Give  me  a  peace- 
ful country  nook  and  one  congenial  friend  and  I  am 
happy." 

1 

6.  6 

March,  i88i. 
Virginia  Langford,  of  Baltimore,  Md. 

Elegant,  accomplished,  statuesque ;  black  hair ;  a 
light  coloring ;  violet  eyes. 

"But  he  would  always  have  the  counsel  of  Eng- 
land's maiden  queen  as  a  mentor,  '  If  thy  heart  fails 
thee,  climb  not  at  all.'" 


Total,  one  whole  heart. 

Respectfully  submitted, 

Arthur  Lattimer,  Knave  of  Hearts* 


E.  and  O.  E. 


174  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

The  reading  of  this  account  in  its  entirety, 
following  as  it  did  the  discovery  of  Aunt  Selina's 
secret,  served  to  throw  a  still  deeper  shadow 
athwart  the  current  of  my  thoughts.  For  the 
first  time  I  realized  my  own  actual  condition. 
It  came  over  me  as  I  sat  on  the  brink  of  the 
foaming  surge  that  I  had  given  away  my  whole 
heart  by  piecemeal,  and  was  a  bankrupt,  so  to 
speak,  at  the  court  of  love.  Now  I  understood 
that  the  morbid  and  despondent  feelings  which 
had  haunted  me  of  late  were  but  the  undefined 
consciousness  of  this  state.  Aunt  Selina  and  I 
had  been  alike  victimized  by  causes  the  anti- 
podes of  each  other.  We  had  given  our  hearts 
away  and  received  nothing  in  return,  though 
hers  had  been  bestowed  in  one  sweet  breath, 
and  mine  doled  out  by  inches. 

"  Incides  in  Scyllam  cupiens  vitare  Charybdim  j  " 

or,  as  Shakespeare  has  it,  "  Thus,  when  I  shun 
Scylla,  your  father,  I  fall  into  Charybdis,  your 
mother."  The  classical  allusion  was  indeed 
germane  to  my  condition,  for  had  I  not,  in  the 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  175 

effort  to  avoid  the  pitfall  so  fatal  to  my  great- 
aunt's  happiness,  compromised  my  own  by 
straying  too  far  upon  the  other  side  ?  My  heart 
was  gone.  With  all  my  capacity  for  loving,  I 
had  lost  the  power  to  love.  My  relative's  pas- 
sion had  been  lavished  in  the  bulk,  while  I  had 
apportioned  mine  in  driblets.  Yet  it  had  been 
reserved  for  us  both  to  awake  and  find  an  insol- 
vent world  our  debtor. 

The  hoarse  swash  of  the  waves,  now  grown 
louder,  harmonized  with  my  miserable  mood. 
I  could  have  thrown  myself  into  them,  and 
hushed  forever  the  dreadful  whirl  of  existence, 
for  aught  I  cared  to  live,  with  the  power  to  love 
no  longer  rife  within  me.  Like  the  silence 
which  follows  when  the  last  chord  of  the  harp 
snaps  beneath  the  touch  of  the  silver-haired 
minstrel  was  the  solitude  of  my  soul.  I  drew 
from  my  pocket  the  lancet  given  me  by  Aunt 
Selina,  which  bore  as  the  termination  of  its 
handle  a  minikin  of  a  Cupid,  and  tossed  it  from 
me  into  the  boiling  waters.  What  did  the  glit- 
tering token  avail  me,  now  that  the  heart  which 


1/6  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

yielded  to  its  keen  touch  was  consumed?  Even 
as  Arthur,  Excalibur,  so  cast  I  the  silver  guerdon 
into  the  dark  water ;  and  as  it  flashed  upon  the 
surface  I  almost  fancied  that,  as  in  the  old-time 
legend,  a  white  hand  caught  and  shook  thrice, 
ere  it  vanished  from  sight,  the  precious  emblem. 
It  was  an  old  woman's  hand,  and  no  wedding- 
ring  encircled  the  third  wasted  finger. 

I  do  not  know  precisely  how  long  I  sat 
thereafter  gazing  at  the  creamy  eddies  and  over 
the  billowy  expanse  of  sea,  so  lost  was  I  in  the 
isolation  of  my  thoughts.  I  was  brought  back 
to  actuality  by  a  crashing  sound  close  behind 
me.  Looking  over  my  shoulder,  I  beheld  the 
remains  of  a  lady's  parasol,  which  plainly  had 
been  let  fall  from  the  brow  of  the  cliff.  It  had 
struck  the  ledge  a  few  feet  in  my  rear,  and  the 
force  of  the  shock  had  shattered  the  point. 
The  handle,  however,  was  still  intact,  and  as  I 
seized  it  in  order  to  snatch  the  implement  from 
the  greedy  usurpation  of  the  breakers,  I  ob- 
served with  curiosity  that  my  fingers  encoun- 
tered a  minikin  of  a  Cupid  precisely  similar  to 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  1 7/ 

the  device  which  adorned  my  ci-devant  lancet. 
Raising  my  eyes,  I  discerned  a  tall  and  graceful 
girl  upon  the  edge  of  the  bluff  above.  Even  at 
the  great  distance  which  separated  us  I  thought 
I  could  perceive  a  blush  upon  her  cheek  as 
though  she  were  aghast  at  her  clumsiness,  or 
rather  her  apparent  artifice  to  attract  my  atten- 
tion, which  to  a  sensitive  soul  would  be  a  source 
of  galling  discomfiture,  for  none  but  the  veriest 
novice  would  stoop  to  such  an  inartistic  method 
of  making  an  acquaintance. 

But  not  for  an  instant  did  I  impute  to  her  so 
ungenerous  a  suspicion,  for  I  could  plainly  see 
that  she  was  a  young  lady  whose  experience  of 
life  had  been  ample  and  far  from  superficial. 
There  was  nothing  of  the  tyro  in  her  garb  or 
figure,  as  she  stood  out  in  relief  against  the  after- 
noon sky.  With  a  bold  and  practised  step  I 
began  to  scale  the  heights  which  towered  be- 
twixt us,  with  her  sun-umbrella  in  my  teeth. 
Athlete  as  I  was,  I  could  not  keep  my  eyes 
fixed  upon  her  person,  except  transiently,  for 
the  ascent  was  one  of  difficulty. 


178  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

At  last  I  conquered  the  opposing  distance 
and  stood  erect  upon  the  bluff,  which  was  richly- 
carpeted  with  greensward.  My  glance  fell  upon 
a  girl  of  rare  and  perfect  beauty,  the  character 
of  whose  garments  was  rendered  of  minor  im- 
portance by  the  consummate  grace  with  which 
she  wore  them.  I  simply  took  note  of  a  large 
hat  girdling  her  face  hke  a  halo.  It  was 
trimmed  with  a  waving  feather,  black  and 
glossy  as  a  raven's  plume,  and  only  second 
to  her  lustrous  hair.  But  the  features  were 
what  riveted  and  enthralled  my  attention. 
Where  before  had  I  beheld  the  eyes  radiant 
with  keen  vitality  which  looked  out  at  me  from 
under  those  dark  tresses?  From  what  niche 
in  memory's  hall  had  those  dashing,  proud 
lineaments  descended  to  mock  me  with  their 
presence?  I  could  not  tell,  and  under  the  ban 
of  my  perplexity  I  stood  staring  in  her  face 
a  longer  time  than  was  consistent  with  com- 
plete decorum.  Doubtless  she  interpreted  my 
bewilderment  as  effrontery,  and  concluded  that 
I  suspected  her  of  design  in  the  catastrophe  to 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  1/9 

her  parasol,  for  her  air  became  haughty;  and 
though  she  thanked  me  as  she  received  the 
broken  complement  to  her  costume  from  my 
hand,  her  manner  implied  that  she  did  not  in- 
tend the  incident  to  be  made  use  of  as  the 
opening  wedge  to  an  acquaintance. 

The  downheartedness  of  my  mood  reacting 
from  the  elasticity  which  had  prompted  me  to 
play  the  gallant,  supplied  me  straightway  with 
an  antidote  to  her  suspicion. 

"  Madam,"  said  I,  —  and  I  made  use  of  this 
appellative  to  clothe  my  speech  with  as  much 
dignity  as  was  possible,  —  "  in  happier  moments 
I  should  perchance  have  ventured  to  express 
the  desire  for  an  introduction  to  one  whom  I 
have  had  the  honor  and  good  fortune  to  succor; 
but  private  grief  of  a  character  too  intricate 
for  a  passing  utterance  has  robbed  me  of  the 
spirit  of  enterprise  by  which  I  was  formerly 
possessed." 

I  saw  in  an  instant  that  my  words  aroused 
her  interest.  They  were,  as  I  intended,  ornate, 
and  removed  from  the  usual  form  of  address. 


l8o  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

It  had  been  palpable  to  me  that  nothing  short 
of  a  marked  individuality  would  engage  her 
attention,  and  I  was  able  to  feel  now  that 
her  wide  experience  did  not  include  a  man 
of  my  properties.  Her  features  relaxed  in 
haughtiness,  and  her  eyes  betrayed  a  glimmer 
of  coquetry  as  she  replied,  somewhat  after  my 
own  fashion,  — 

"  However  that  may  be,  sir,  you  have  not 
forgotten  the  art  of  chivalry.  I  grieve  that  my 
unseemly  interruption  should  have  broken  the 
thread  of  reflections,  which,  though  melancholy, 
ought  to  have  been  sacred." 

I  answered,  this  time  with  a  slight  tinge  of 
reserve,  that  she  need  feel  no  concern  upon 
that  score,  for  mine  was  a  grief  which  flourished 
in  any  soil,  nor  could  be  affected  by  circum- 
stances. In  regard  to  her  estimate  of  my  gal- 
lantry, I  added  that  I  trusted  no  one  would  ever 
find  me  deficient  where  the  welfare  or  comfort 
of  one  of  her  sex  was  involved. 

She  plucked  mechanically  one  of  those  tall 
succulent   strands  which   grow  where   grass   is 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  l8l 

abundant,  and  twirled  it  pensively.  I  was 
manifestly  an  enigma  to  her,  and  doubtless 
doubly  so  from  the  fact  that  she  was  wont  to 
find  most  men  very  easy  to  understand.  I 
cannot  say  it  was  material  to  me,  feeling  the 
burden  of  my  sorrow  so  keenly,  whether  or 
not  she  saw  fit  to  prolong  the  interview.  Still 
I  stood  pondering  on  her  beauty,  and  wonder- 
ing where  I  had  seen  her  features  before. 

She  looked  up  at  me  suddenly  and  said, 
evidently  in  pursuance  of  a  deliberate  reso- 
lution,— 

"  Are  you,  then,  among  those  who  find  the 
silent  sympathy  of  Nature's  forces  more  con- 
solatory than  the  language  of  friendship?" 

She  looked  modest  and  self-contained,  but 
wore  that  expression  of  exquisite  interest  which 
I  had  often  noted  upon  the  countenances  of  the 
flirtatious.  I  recognized  that  I  was  face  to  face 
with  an  adept,  and  one  who  would  be  quick  to 
detect  anything  which  was  commonplace  or 
inartistic  in  my  social  sword-play.  I  was  equal 
to  the  occasion. 


1 82  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

"  Madam,"  said  I  again,  with  an  increased 
frigidity,  "I  have  already  impHed  that  were 
I  in  the  condition  of  one  whose  emotions  were 
unhampered,  I  should  be  quick  to  acknowledge 
and  pay  tribute  to  the  fascinations  concentered 
in  a  beautiful  woman ;  but  such  is  not  the  case. 
Your  words  are  but  the  ordinary  prelude  to  a 
coquettish  intimacy,  —  the  bait  which,  under  the 
guise  of  psychological  abstraction,  conceals  the 
hook  of  personal  ambition.  Waste  not  your 
time  on  me,  I  pray,  for  without  prejudice  to  your 
powers  of  attraction  I  should  prove  an  unprofit- 
able subject.  You  have,  I  will  assume,  encoun- 
tered in  your  day  many  curious  types  of  the 
creature  man;  but,  methinks,  you  for  the  first 
time  are  in  the  presence  of  one  whose  heart 
has  been  eaten  away  piece  by  piece,  even  as 
the  rock  is  eaten  by  the  sea,  until  no  vestige  of 
it  remains.  The  love  you  would  fain  awaken 
in  my  breast  abides  there  no  more.  I  am  im- 
pervious to  the  fascination  of  woman." 

As  I  spoke  I  perceived  the  blood  mantle  her 
cheeks,  until  they  glowed  a  very  crimson.     Her 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  183 

eyes  flashed  with  spirited  resentment.  Yet  she 
did  not  interrupt  me ;  and  as  I  finished,  the  color 
of  her  complexion  subsided  and  a  clever  smile 
curved  her  lips.  She  gazed  at  me  with  a  re- 
newed interest  before  she  replied, — 

"  We  are,  then,  comrades  in  misfortune." 

"  Madam,"  said  I  slowly,  "  I  recognize  no 
such  tie.  Believe  me,  I  am  in  earnest  when  I 
tell  you  that  I  have  outlived  the  capacity  of 
reciprocating  affection.  No  wile,  however  skil- 
ful, can  decoy  me  from  my  isolation." 

She  tapped  her  boot  softly  with  the  rescued 
parasol. 

"  You  do  not,  I  think,  understand  me." 

I  shook  my  head  sadly,  but  with  decision. 

"  It  is  without  prejudice  to  your  charms,  I 
repeat,  when  I  say  that,  though  you  were  to  dally 
with  me  for  a  twelvemonth,  I  should  still  be 
marble." 

"  Sir,"  she  resumed  more  haughtily,  "  I  have 
given  you  credit  for  much  discernment  of  a  cer- 
tain kind.  You  showed  yourself  a  keen  observer 
of  the  ways  of  woman  in  alluding  to  a  former 


1 84  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

phrase  of  mine  as  a  bait  to  conceal  the  hook  of 
personal  ambition.  Your  words  were  not  de- 
void of  talent.  But  lost  in  the  selfishness  of  one 
consideration,  you  have  failed  to  grasp  a  truth 
analogous  to  your  own,  and  quite  as  genuine. 
Your  genius  has  its  limitations." 

Even  now  I  hesitated,  fearing  lest  her  lan- 
guage veiled  a  cunning  ruse  to  ensnare  me  into 
a  flirtation.  Nevertheless  I  observed  that  I  had 
no  wish  to  forfeit  any  esteem  she  might  have 
seen  fit  to  honor  me  with. 

"Why  should  we  not,"  I  added,  "since  I  have 
defined  my  position  clearly,  seat  ourselves  on 
the  grass,  for  it  is  still  far  from  twilight." 

She  accepted  this  semblance  of  an  apology, 
and  composed  herself  upon  the  greensward. 
However,  she  was  silent,  and  made  little  holes 
in  the  loam  with  a  pointed  pebble.  I  examined 
her  more  closely.  Somewhere,  surely,  I  had 
beheld  those  striking  features. 

Suddenly  she  turned  to  me  and  said  with  a 
quiet  smile, — 

"  You  have  given  me  to  understand  that  the 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  1 85 

nature  of  woman  has  become  so  far  cloying 
to  you  as  to  fail  to  impress  you  even  when 
most  ideally  represented  in  the  flesh." 

"  Yes,"  I  replied ;  "  I  can  say,  without  exag- 
geration or  boastfulness,  that  I  am  thoroughly 
intimate  with  the  feminine  disposition.  The 
woman  does  not  live,  I  think,  whose  character 
I  should  not  be  able  to  fathom  in  a  few  minutes' 
interview." 

"  You  speak  with  confidence." 

"  Yes,  madam ;  and  as  your  tone  implies  a 
doubt  as  to  my  ability  to  prove  the  secret 
springs  which  dictate  your  conduct,  I  shall  be 
bold  enough  to  class  you  in  the  school  of  those 
who  seek  to  impress  men  by  the  apparent  inten- 
sity of  their  sympathies,  —  a  school,  indeed,  most 
attractive  and  formidable,  but  innocuous  to  me, 
who  am  beyond  the  influence  of  any  woman." 

She  laughed  a  low,  scornful  laugh,  and  then 
sighed  deeply. 

"There  was  a  time  when  a  boast  such  as 
yours  would  have  weighed  less  heavily  upon  my 
pride  than  the  foam  of  the  billows  upon  the 


1 86  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

bosom  of  the  ocean.  Even  six  months  ago  I 
should,  despite  your  assurance,  have  found  it 
no  difficult  task,  I  ween,  to  inscribe  your  name 
among  those  who  have  owed  me  fealty." 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders  with  quiet  amuse- 
ment. 

"But,"  she  continued,  "the  time  for  that  has 
passed.  Grant,  if  you  wish,  that  I  was  such  a 
one  as  you  describe,  an  adept  at  bringing  your 
sex  to  their  knees  by  force  of  my  sympathetic 
demeanor,  I  am  no  longer  free  to  practise  such 
amenities.  Or,  to  phrase  it  more  justly,  as  it 
seems  to  me,  I  once  could  love  with  a  passionate 
fervor,  but,  like  you,  my  heart  is  now  dry  as  the 
fountain  parched  by  the  summer's  heat.  Here," 
she  added,  "  if  you  doubt  me,  is  the  proof." 

She  put  her  hand  into  her  pocket  and  drew 
forth  a  note-book  which  she  passed  to  me  for 
inspection.  Then  covering  her  face  she  wept 
silently.  I  could  see  the  drops  forcing  a  pas- 
sage betwixt  her  fingers.  With  grave  curiosity 
I  undid  the  clasp,  and  to  my  vast  amazement 
read  as  follows:  — 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 


187 


August  I,  1881.        Bar  Harbor,  Maine. 


Charles  Leroy, 
Donald  K.  Timmins, 
Harry  Fosdick, 
Milton  Parker, 
E.  Opdyke  Manchester, 
Jack  King, 


To  one  heart. 


To 

2 

Mabel 
"■    Westering, 

Spinster, 
Drs. 

ITEMIZED  ACCOUNT. 


I. 

January,  1878. 
Charles  Leroy,  of  New  York,  N.  Y. 

Handsome,  muscular,  an  Adonis  of  a  man ;   very 
silent ;  rowed  in  his  class  crew. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Westerly,  I  'm  not  clever,  I  know,  but 
I  do  love  you  so." 


2. 

July,  1878. 
Donald  K.  Timmins,  of  Baltimore,  Md. 

Lithe,  graceful,  and  agile ;  a  fine  tennis  player ; 
paddles  beautifully ;  sings  divinely ;  rather  a  nice 
brown  mustache. 


1 88"  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

"  My  life  has  not  amounted  to  much ;  but  if 
you — Mabel — would  consent  to  share  my  poverty, 
I  should  work  very,  very  hard." 


1 


3.  6 

February,  1879. 
Harry  Fosdick,  of  Philadelphia,  Perm. 

Stylish,  dashing ;  black,  wavy  mustache ;  dresses 
beautifully  (papa  says  he 's  rather  fast)  ;  sends  lovely 
flowers. 

"I  will  not  pretend  to  deny  that  I  have  paid 
devotion  to  other  women  in  the  course  of  my  life ; 
but  you  will  believe  me,  dearest,  I  feel  sure,  when 
I  say  you  are  the  only  woman  I  have  ever  loved." 


1 


4.  6 

July,  1879. 
Milton  Parker,  of  Boston,  Mass. 

Refined,  dignified ;  has  nice  respectful  manners ; 
carefully  trimmed  side-whiskers. 

"It  is  now  three  months,  Miss  Westering,  since  I 
spoke  to  you  before  on  this  subject.  I  have  been 
faithful  to  the  words  I  then  uttered,  that  I  could  not 
forget  you.  I  love  you  with  all  my  heart.  Only 
this  time  I  feel  I  owe  to  myself  and  my  prospect  in 
life  to  say,  *  Take  me  or  leave  me.' " 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  1 89 

Turning  over  the  page,  I  saw  that  the  epi- 
sodes which  followed  were  to  the  same  general 
effect.  It  was  plain  that  her  experience  had 
been  literally  a  parallel  of  my  own.  Her  love, 
like  mine,  had  been  drawn  upon  until  the  sacred 
font  of  passion  had  become  exhausted.  My 
eyes  were  moist  with  tears  as  I  gazed  at  my 
neighbor,  who  still  sat  with  shrouded  face. 

"Miss  Westering,  —  Mabel,"  said  I,  "we  are 
indeed  companions  in  misery.  It  is  only  just 
that  you  should  read  my  experiences,  also." 

I  handed  her  my  note-book. 

I  watched  her  open  my  memorials.  At  the 
sight  of  my  name  she  gave  a  little  exclamation, 
and  looked  at  me  scrutinizingly  for  an  instant. 
The  contents  interested  her,  plainly,  but  seemed 
to  increase  her  despondency,  doubtless  from 
the  analogy  of  the  various  incidents  to  her  own 
experiences. 

Meanwhile  I,  with  a  stealthy  gesture,  drew 
forth  the  miniature  of  Aunt  Selina's  lover,  and 
opening  the  leather  case  gazeH  upon  the  features 
there  portrayed.     A  single  glance  told  me  that 


190  THE  KNAVE  OF  HEARTS. 

my  conjecture  was  correct,  and  that  the  simi- 
larity of  the  names  was  no  mere  incident  of 
chance.  The  dashing  mien,  sparkling  eyes,  and 
raven's-wing  locks  of  Captain  Westering  were 
reproduced  in  the  beauteous  maid  at  my  elbow. 
It  seemed  verily  as  if  fate  had  brought  us  to- 
gether to  typify  the  truth  of  the  prophecy  that 
the  sins  of  the  fathers  are  visited  upon  the  chil- 
dren. The  guiltless  as  well  as  the  guilty  are 
called  to  suffer  in  this  unequal  world.  Through 
the  deceit  practised  by  her  ancestor  upon  mine, 
a  pair  of  innocent  lives  had  been  brought  face 
to  face  with  unhappiness. 

She  finished  the  inspection  of  the  note-book 
and  looked  up  at  me  with  a  sad  smile. 

"  It  is  strange,  is  it  not?"  she  said. 

"Yes,  Mabel  Westering,  and  even  stranger 
still  to  one  who  holds  the  key  to  the  mystery." 

She  blushed  as  though  fearful  of  my  meaning, 
and  gazed  at  me  with  vivid  eagerness. 

"  What !  are  you  —  is  it  possible  you  are 
related  to  the  Miss  Selina  Lattimer  whose 
miniature  is  in  my  possession?" 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  IQI 

She  fumbled  in  her  pocket. 

I  bowed  my  head. 

"  She  was  my  great-great-aunt.  And  you, 
Miss  Westering,  I  take  to  be  a  Hneal  descend- 
ant of  that  faithless  man  who  robbed  my 
ancestress  of  her  maiden  love.  Behold  his 
likeness." 

Each  simultaneously  reached  to  the  other  a 
leather  case  of  the  same  proportions,  and  in 
silence,  though  her  cheeks  were  aflame,  we 
studied  the  features  of  our  respective  relatives. 

Mabel  was  the  first  to  speak :  **  He  was  my 
great-grandfather." 

"  And  a  pirate,"  I  added  bitterly. 

Her  eyes  flashed  defiance. 

"  You  are  cruel,"  she  murmured. 

Even  then  I  realized  that  her  reproach  was 
not  without  justice.  What  had  she  done,  poor 
child,  to  deserve  my  censure?  My  mood  should 
rather  be  stirred  to  compassion  by  the  mutual- 
ity of  our  misfortune  than  egged  to  vengeance 
by  memories  of  ancestral  wrongs.  Yet  I  could 
not  for  a  moment  school  my  feelings  to  a  due 


192  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

clemency,  so  guileless  and  trusting  were  the 
maiden  features  of  my  injured  kinswoman,  look- 
ing at  me  from  the  ancient  portrait.  At  last  I 
said,  with  gentle  melancholy,  — 

"  It  is  not  meet  that  I  should  blame  you, 
Mabel.  We  are  alike  unhappy  from  causes 
brought  into  being  ere  we  were  born.  If  it  will 
not  add  to  your  sorrow,  I  would  fain  show  you, 
however,  a  letter  written  by  your  great-grand- 
mother. It  was  she  who  was  the  occasion  that 
Captain  Westering  proved  faithless  to  his  troth, 
and  in  the  perusal  of  this  document  you  will 
perchance  find  an  excuse  for  my  hasty  words." 

She  inclined  her  head  gratefully  and  received 
the  aged  parchment,  which  she  read  with 
attention. 

"  My  great-grandmother  wronged  your  Aunt 
Selina  bitterly,  Arthur,"  she  said.  "  I  am  very 
sorry." 

"  This,  I  presume,  is  the  miniature  there 
referred  to  ?  " 

"  I  believe  so,  Arthur." 

I  was  silent  a  moment. 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  193 

"  How  has  it  chanced,  Mabel,  that  you  have 
come  to  such  a  pass  as  you  describe?  Was 
there  any  incentive  in  your  case  that  prompted 
you  to  be  chary  of  bestowing  your  heart?  I 
was  a  victim  to  an  ancestral  desire  for  ven- 
geance ;  but  you,  —  how  has  it  happened  that 
you  are  no  longer  susceptible  to  that  exquisite 
passion  which  sways  the  world  ?  " 

"  I  know  not,  Arthur,  to  what  to  ascribe  it, 
save  my  blood." 

"  True,"  I  murmured;  "  it  was  in  your  blood. 
You  are  a  prey  to  the  vampire  heredity,  poor 
girl !  " 

"  I  can  only  say  that  I  am  very  wretched, 
Arthur." 

I  had  not  intended  to  express  more  than  the 
interest  of  genuine  pity,  and  no  vestige  —  at 
least  designedly  —  of  a  more  ardent  emotion 
filled  my  breast.  But  the  guise  of  Mabel 
Westering's  last  expression  and  the  look  im- 
printed on  her  face  put  me  on  my  guard.  The 
frequent  use  of  my  Christian  name,  always 
couched  more  tenderly  than  my  utterance  of 
13 


194  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

hers,  likewise  attracted  my  attention,  and  I 
could  not  help  experiencing  the  impression 
that,  despite  her  assertion  to  the  contrary, 
Mabel  Westering's  heart  was  still  susceptible  to 
a  fascination  such  as  I  had  the  power  to  exert. 
Brought  face  to  face  with  this  conclusion,  I  will 
admit  that  the  desire  for  revenge  for  an  instant 
was  superior  to  more  worthy  sentiments,  and  I 
almost  embraced  the  opportunity  offered  to 
play  the  part  of  a  deceiver  for  the  sake  of  Aunt 
Selina.  But  those  lofty  principles  of  action 
which  had  hitherto  been  my  counsellors  came 
to  the  rescue  once  again,  and  saved  me  from  an 
act  which,  however  pardonable  under  the  cir- 
cumstances, would  still  have  been  malicious. 
These  reflections  sped  with  arrow-like  rapidity 
through  my  mind,  and  I  said,  — 

"  Miss  Westering,  indeed  we  are  both  very 
wretched.  In  the  language  of  the  dramatist,  I 
may  well  remark,  'A  plague  on  both  our 
houses.' " 

I  was  silent  for  a  little,  and  pulled  my 
mustache  pensively. 


THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS.  1 95 

"  I  would  it  were  possible,"  I  continued,  "  for 
us  to  emulate  the  example  of  that  old-time  pair 
of  lovers  who,  despite  the  rancor  of  family 
hatred,  plighted  their  troths  because  sweet  love 
willed  it  so."  I  thought  I  discerned  a  slight 
tremor  on  her  lips,  and  the  color  in  her  cheeks 
came  and  went  as  I  spoke.  "  But,  alas  !  neither 
for  you  nor  for  me  is  so  happy  a  termination 
to  our  misery  possible.  There  is  a  premise 
lacking  which  cannot  be  supplied.  Love  is 
wanting,  and  without  it  Romeo's  ladder  no 
longer  appeals  to  the  imagination.  Regard  it 
neither  as  flattery  nor  yet  discourtesy  if  I  say, 
that  though  I  discern  in  your  charms  that  which 
might  easily  have  brought  me  to  your  feet  in 
days  now  past  forever,  I  am  at  this  moment  an 
indifferent  beholder  of  those  same  fascinations." 

I  paused;  and  I  must  do  her  the  justice  to 
say  that,  however  much  she  may  have  been 
drawn  toward  me,  pride  now  came  to  her  rescue 
and  clothed  her  language  with  appropriate 
dignity. 

"You    are   intelligible,  Mr.    Lattimer,  and   I 


196  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

appreciate  that  you  do  not  desire  to  wound  me. 
Permit  me  in  turn  to  state  that,  though  you 
were  to  proffer  me  on  bended  knee  a  heart  new 
found,  I  should  not  know  where  to  seek  for  love 
wherewith  to  reciprocate  your  bounty." 

"  I  shall,  at  least,"  I  added,  trusting  thereby  to 
smooth  the  way  to  parting,  "  carry  away  with 
me  the  remembrance  that  another  exists,  no 
less  unhappy  than  myself,  to  whom  I  can  turn 
in  the  hour  of  need  for  sympathy." 

She  had  quite  regained  her  ancient  aplomb 
and  serenity. 

"  See,"  she  observed,  pointing  to  the  western 
sky,  "  yon  molten  cloud  awakes  more  sympathy 
in  me  than  all  the  race  of  man." 

I  bowed  with  consummate  grace,  and  so  we 
parted. 

A  week  later  I  was  at  home  once  more,  and 
several  people  spoke  of  the  middle-aged  ap- 
pearance that  seemed  to  have  settled  upon  me. 
My  barber  said  my  hair  was  getting  very  thin 
on  top. 


THE  KNAVE  OF  HEARTS.  197 

I  found  my  dear  sisters  in  the  neutral  tints 
which  separate  mourning  attire  from  gay  ap- 
parel. They  were  enjoying  the  pleasures  of 
the  summer  season  after  the  manner  of  young 
ladies  of  social  position  and  culture.  I  met 
Alice  Maud  strolling  along  a  byway,  on  the  day 
after  my  arrival,  with  a  young  man  upon  whose 
lip  the  question  so  fateful  to  feminine  welfare 
faltered,  —  but  merely  from  bashfulness. 

It  was  on  the  third  day  that  Julia  Pierson  took 
me  apart  and  whispered  —  I  must  do  her  the  jus- 
tice to  say  she  had  developed  into  a  stylish- 
looking  girl  —  whispered  that  she  was  engaged. 

"What!"  I  cried,  "to  that" — I  was  going 
to  add  "  callow,  tow-headed  youth,"  but  I  for- 
bore, 

"  Yes,  Arthur,  Mr.  Plympton." 

I  kissed  my  second  sister  with  genuine  affec- 
tion. 

"  I  am  so  happy,  Arthur.  I  do  wish  you 
would  follow  my  example." 

I  stroked  the  golden  hair  of  the  earnest  sup- 
plicant, and  a  tear-drop  bedewed  my  eye. 


198  THE  KNAVE   OF  HEARTS. 

"  I  'm  sure  Leila  Johnson  would  forgive  you, 
if  you  were  to  ask  her,"  added  Julia  Pierson. 

I  sighed,  and  though  my  hand  ceased  to 
caress  the  smooth  tresses,  it  still  rested  fondly 
thereon. 

"  Well,  well,  child !  who  knows  what  the  end 
may  be?" 


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